


Smooth Water All Our Days

by Anonymous



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Blood and Injury, Domesticity, Historical Figures, M/M, Spy Shenanigans, aromantic Jane Roland, background canon relationships, conservative backlash and populism, dances and balls and pining oh my!, dubious understanding of 19th century British politics, past Jane/Laurence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29234136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Laurence desires nothing more than to retire to Tharkay's estate and help Temeraire get to Parliament, for what more could he want than a place in Britain with space enough for a dragon, and the company of a dear friend? But wars rarely end so neatly. Bellicose lords, Bourbon princes, errant heirs and shadowy forces threaten to undermine the very peace that Laurence and Temeraire fought to obtain, and ruin the happiness that Laurence was just beginning to glimpse.
Relationships: William Laurence/Tenzing Tharkay
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pendrecarc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendrecarc/gifts).



> For Pendrecarc - I hope you like it!
> 
> Some content warnings before we get started:  
> CW: Injury and medical trauma - Non-graphic description of a puncture wound in chapter 2; wounds to hand and ear in chapter 5, which are then treated with stitches; description of the symptoms of poisoning in chapter 5.  
> CW: Racism - Description of racist propaganda against a nonwhite head of state in chapters 2 and 4.

Laurence rose with the sun.

It streamed across the fields of his brother’s estate, casting long ribbons of shadow on the ground. It glittered on dew and lit the myriad windows of Wollaton Hall in a golden blaze. It gleamed upon Temeraire’s scales. Laurence saw this through the window-pane, and then washed and dressed with a vigour he hadn’t felt in months. He had slept well; he felt very light.

Into the field he went; he rubbed Temeraire’s snout to wake him, and informed him of his plans. “Oh, how nice,” said Temeraire, cracking open one blue eye, “Do give him my best.” Then he let out a yawn which echoed around the fields like a small thunderclap, and rested his head once more upon his foreleg, watching Laurence sleepily as he left.

Laurence forwent a carriage or a horse, for it was only a few miles to walk into the heart of Nottingham, and the crisp air and noisy birds made good company.

It was not until he was at Tollhouse Hill, having to dodge the first carters and tradesmen of the day, that he had to admit to himself that it really was indecently early to call on someone. Tharkay’s proposal last night had set a fire in his mind, for it was a vision of everything he could have hoped for: a home, here in Britain, with space enough for Temeraire. It was a dream he’d held long before the invasion, but he had not realised that he had given up hope for such a thing until Tharkay had offered it to him, along with opportunities for Temeraire’s political advancement, and his own unreproaching company. 

Now, he dithered on the corner of Market street, watching the shopkeepers and street-hawkers setting up for the day. If he dawdled, then by the time he made it to the hotel it would barely be 7 o’clock. Tharkay was by habit an early riser, but he was also now a gentleman of leisure, who might justifiably expect a lie-in. Intimacy and propriety warred within him until, having made himself thoroughly self-conscious, Laurence resolved to simply pass by the hotel on his way to the river, and amuse himself until a more suitable time. 

Naturally, he had barely passed the hotel when he heard a whistle from above. Tharkay leaned out a window on the second storey, a pen in his hand, and smiled down at him; then he withdrew. Laurence hastened to the entrance of the hotel, was admitted by a sleepy footman, and bounded up the stairs.

Tharkay threw open his door almost as soon as Laurence reached the top step, and said without preamble, “Did you know that Minnow is in trouble with the Postmasters General?” He shut the door behind them, and turned to the bed, where the rest of his clothes for the day were laid out neatly on the counterpane. He was only half-dressed, his hair still loose about his face, tying his neckcloth with his deft, crooked fingers. 

“Good morning,” said Laurence, in happy bafflement, “I can’t say that I did.”

It gave Laurence a queer sort of pleasure to look about the room and recognise the artifacts of Tharkay’s life mingled with the finery of his new fortune. His greatcoat and the gold-topped cane were hung by the door, but the valise beneath them stood beside a leather case that had been hauled all over Creation, and which Laurence would wager still carried everything Tharkay would need if he had to travel on short notice. On the desk by the window, where the sun streamed in, were the morning’s papers, and what looked like a half-written letter, weighed down with his battered compass. Tharkay tilted his chin towards the desk. “It’s in the news today – apparently her services are in high demand.” 

Laurence picked up the copy of the  _ Times,  _ and read the article with bemusement. Minnow’s freelance courier operation – not a military dispatch, as Corps couriers were, and so available to anyone daring enough to trust a dragon with their parcel – was by the paper’s accounts now prominent and profitable enough that the Royal Mail had taken notice. A representative of that venerable organisation was quoted in the article, disparaging her as uncaptained and therefore untrustworthy.

“I wish her luck,” he said, “Though I am not surprised the venture has met with controversy. If they’ve any sense, the Royal Mail would employ dragons, for nothing’s so fast as a courier on the wing.”

“Swift change, I fear, is anathema to any government institution - though we may yet hope to be surprised,” Tharkay replied, and shrugged on his coat. “Now: coffee?”

* * *

Somewhat after midmorning, Temeraire sought out his breakfast.

On a handsome silver tray, the servants brought out a mound of porridge, studded with boiled eggs and ringed with kippers, alongside a tureen of fragrant black tea. He had polished off the former and was sipping at the latter, deep in conversation with a cook’s assistant named Agatha about the prospects of her young nephew who had gone to the Edinburgh covert, when Lady Allendale appeared in the yard.   


The kitchen girls, who were clearing the breakfast things away, were as surprised as he was, and made their curtseys with their arms full of kettles and trays. “Thank you,” he heard her murmur; “Pray don’t let me interrupt you.” Temeraire took advantage of her momentary distraction to arrange himself in a less sprawling manner, which required him to put aside his tea. He set down the silver tureen as carefully as he could, but, half-full as it was, it made a deep gonging sound as it came to rest on the flagstones; Lady Allendale’s head turned to him at the sound.

He could not help but feel a certain timidity in the presence of Lady Allendale, despite her being small, or perhaps even because of it; she looked so frail that he felt conscious of his size and strength as he rarely was around other people. She was Laurence’s mother, after all, and therefore very important; and she spoke gently to Laurence, and so Temeraire liked her far more than he ever had Laurence’s father. This last was partly the source of his awkward feelings, for she dressed nowadays in mourning black. He knew that Laurence, too, still grieved Lord Allendale deeply, even though the man had been so disagreeable every time Temeraire met him; so he regretted Lord Allendale’s death, but only because it caused other people sorrow.

Even if he had no connection to her whatsoever, she would nonetheless remain a very fine and sensible person, elegantly dressed and always gracious, and so he twitched with the urge to rub his muzzle against his foreleg in case there were flecks of porridge on it that he had neglected to lick away. He rued having slept so late. “Good morning to you, Lady Allendale,” he said, lowering his head.

“Good morning to you too, my dear,” she replied, and Temeraire felt a peculiar flutter of happiness to hear that word from her. “Do forgive me; I seem to have interrupted your breakfast.”

“Not at all,” he replied hastily. “I have quite finished eating, and was only taking tea – will you join me? It is a lovely day to be outside.” It was, indeed, not damp at all. When Laurence had left this morning, the grass had glittered with dew and mist roiled at the treeline, but when Temeraire next opened his eyes they had vanished in the warmth of the day.

Lady Allendale paused, and then said, decisively, “Why, yes. I think I will. Agatha—?” Agatha curtseyed again, and bustled away. “—Thank you.” To Temeraire, as Agatha disappeared inside, she said in an undertone, “I understand her nephew is doing well.”   


“She was just telling me about his last letter,” Temeraire said, and was delighted to repeat all Agatha had told him about her Albert’s good prospects and remarkable penmanship, and as he did two footmen emerged from the house with a chair and a low table, and Lady Allendale was seated. “I shall ask after him when we are next in Edinburgh – oh! Which will be soon, I think; how wonderful.”

“Oh?” Lady Allendale said, and then paused, for here came Agatha, with the tea service. Temeraire took the opportunity to retrieve his cup from the ground. It really was good, and it would be a shame to let it go cold. “Have you plans in Scotland, then?”

At that, Temeraire realised she did not know – for how could she, when Tharkay had come so late that the summer sun had set, and Laurence had risen so early to meet him? “Why, but it’s the most wonderful thing!” he said, delighted to be able to tell her, “For Tharkay visited last night, and he has won his estate at last, and it has deer and space for a pavilion, and he has invited Laurence and I to stay as long as we like, and go to Parliament too!”

Lady Allendale sat still for a moment, with the teacup at her lips; then she lowered it to the saucer with a delicate  _ clink _ , and sat forward in her chair. “Dear,” she said, “I think you had better start from the beginning.”

Temeraire did.

* * *

At the hotel, Tharkay and Laurence breakfasted until the morning grew long. In a private dining room, they spread maps over one end of the table; maps of Tharkay’s estate, upon which he had marked spots he thought suitable for a pavilion - here a hill across the lawn beside the house, there a wide, shallow bend in the stream, and further still a cliff above a waterfall. There was the question of hiring people who would serve a dragon, though Laurence thought that might be easier than he would have thought a few years ago: the staff at Wollaton Hall had quickly grown accustomed to Temeraire’s presence, which was a far cry from the fright that had greeted him in years before. No dragons were known to live in the Kilsyth hills, where Tharkay’s estate lay, but Air Corps dragons were a common sight in the skies above Glasgow, and pavilions for their use were set up along the paths from Loch Laggan to Edinburgh, never too far from the road – there, as here, attitudes might have changed. Three pots of coffee came and went as their conversation ranged further and further outwards, rounding to Temeraire’s plans for office, Perscitia’s exploits in that arena, the prospects of Temeraire’s former crew, and what Laurence would do, who Tharkay’s neighbors were, and who would visit, and when.

It was a heady thing, to discuss such a future. Almost it had an air of happy fantasy, but all he had to do was glance up from the map to meet Tharkay’s eye and all trace of fancy fled, for there was no-one else who so frequently made the unlikely and unlooked-for fall into Laurence’s lap.

Still, the matter of Temeraire’s pavilion must ultimately rest with Temeraire, and so they could go no further in that matter without consulting him; and by that time, it was nearing eleven o’clock. So Laurence invited Tharkay back to Wollaton Hall.

The streets were bustling when they set off, and the summer sun was high. They darted around the edges of the market square, which heaved with people and stank in the heat. Laurence might have trod the route from here to home in his sleep, and yet he felt half a stranger here, the city having changed in ways both subtle and gross. 

There was a certain festive feeling in the air, the victory over Napoleon still fresh, though regiments were still abroad and would be for some time. Their shoulders pressed together, they passed hawkers of commemorative gimcrackery, dishes and jugs painted with gaudy depictions of Wellington, Nelson, Britannia, sea battles, and flights of dragons. Even Temeraire himself was featured on one set of wares, which caused Laurence to pause, unable to decide whether Temeraire would be flattered by the depiction or outraged by the quality of the porcelain, until Tharkay laughed at him for dithering over a plate. There were commemorative spoons, too, in wood, bone, and pewter, and when Laurence saw one handsomely wrought in the shape of a yellow reaper he was moved to turn the conversation to the ideal composition of aerial formations, China’s efficient middle-weight legions having impressed themselves well into his mind.

Further along, they passed a newsagent’s that had victorious political cartoons plastered in the window. Many of them depicted Napoleon – none of them flatteringly, or accurately – and two of them, to Laurence’s embarrassment, depicted himself. The one that caught his eye, though, celebrated a victory in the Peninsula: dragons wheeled over infantry, and though the representation of each beast was not wholly accurate, he recognised Lily’s formation. The caption beneath it said,  _ French Eagles are no Match for British Dragons. _

Laurence marveled at it, wondering when he’d ever seen the Corps so publicly praised, when Tharkay turned his head suddenly in the direction they’d come in the moment before Laurence heard a crash and a scream from the street.

It was one of the souvenir-sellers, Laurence saw, a short, round-faced woman: half a dozen of her wares were in pieces on the cobblestones, shards of colourful wings and scaled bodies, and on the other side of the table stood a soldier, a mulish, unkempt-looking fellow in a rumpled uniform. Laurence assumed he was one of the regiment that had returned two days prior, and he noticed grimly that the man had gone out wearing his sword. Passers-by were beginning to scurry around the scene, their heads low.

The souvenir-seller stared at the man, gaping, and then her cheeks mottled. “What are you about, sir?” she demanded, her voice shaking with anger. “Who’s going to pay for all this? What sort of a way is that, to behave? I never—“

The man muttered something and turned away.

“Sir!” the souvenir-seller shouted, and the man wheeled around to face her.

“It’s not right!” he spat, stabbing a finger at her. “You haven’t seen them. I have. I saw them go through a company like—“

He kicked at the pile of broken plates, missed, and broke the table-leg instead. The souvenir-seller yelped, and had to scramble to stop more of her wares from crashing to the ground. Laurence started forward, Tharkay’s hand a fleeting touch against his arm. “Sir!” he barked. “By God, sir, leave her alone; that is enough. Get you back to your fellows and sober up.”

In truth, Laurence could not tell from a closer look whether the man was drunk – he looked rather more like he had not slept a wink. His eyes were red-rimmed and wild. “Am I mad?” the soldier said. “Am I? What’s come over everybody? I come back and there’s houses for ‘em, like they’re  _ people _ , when there’s children on the street still. What has happened to the world?” He was looking back and forth between Laurence and the woman, who looked bewildered. Unnoticed by the soldier, Tharkay had slipped around the crowd and now stood behind him. Laurence met his eyes over the soldier’s shoulder, and shook his head minutely. “Do none of you read? You’ve all been sitting here safe. Did none of you hear about Russia?”

Abruptly, with a wash of cold that seemed to dim the sunny day, Laurence understood him, from his wild eyes to his rumpled clothes to his outburst of violence upon a crockery stall. He wished rather more keenly that the man had friends around him. “Yes, I know about Russia, sir,” he said. “I witnessed the incident. Unless I am mistaken, you did not, for none of your regiment were there.”

“Is it true, then?” the soldier said bleakly. “They’re man-eaters. Devils. It’s not  _ right _ .”

Laurence remembered his own helplessness, most of all, safe by Temeraire’s side as the dragons of the Russian breeding-ground turned in desperation upon the hospital tents; he remembered when confusion gave way to horror, an unthinkable act happening before his eyes. With an effort, he unclenched his fists, and took a step closer to the man. “I saw creatures chained to the ground by hooks in their flesh, kept in pits and starved,” he answered, low, “until the French turned them loose upon our flank. I would no more call them typical of their species than I would call the souls of Bedlam representative of all mankind.”

The soldier’s face twisted. “You’re an aviator?”

“I am,” Laurence said. 

The man spat at his feet, turned on his heel, and left.

The souvenir-seller made a choked sort of sound, muffled by her hands. She was looking at Laurence with wide eyes. Laurence, satisfied to see the man’s back, said, “I am very sorry for the scene, madam. Do you have an empty crate, perhaps? We can put the shards there.” 

She had several, and a broom besides; in less than a minute she had found a stick to wedge under the table, and a boy to sweep up the broken crockery. “Thank you, sir,” she muttered, and refused him with a blush when he offered to pay for the pieces she had lost. It occurred to him that he might do her a better service now by leaving her to her work; she had, after all, just lost several saleable items but attracted a gawking crowd. He wished her a good morning and turned, just in time to see Tharkay emerge from a near alley.

“Is all well?” Laurence asked quietly.

Tharkay eyed him. “You tell me,” he said.

Laurence opened his mouth to protest, and then decided he deserved the touch. It was not yet a year since he had duelled with Dobrozhnov, though that had been for a far more serious insult. “I am in no position to go about challenging every man who wished to spit on me. Besides, there was no harm done, except to the lady’s wares,” he said. “I hope he returns to his regiment, wherever they are staying; a man with his nerves shot all to pieces ought not to be alone.”

Tharkay gave him a considering look, and then nodded. “Very well. Though I am surprised you do not wish to report him to his commander, at least.”

They were, at that moment, passed by a pair of gentlemen who were loudly and indecorously discussing the madman who had assaulted a merchant and raved about Russian dragons in the street. Their voices carried quite a way, even in the general din. “Even if a commander of His Majesty’s army had any interest in what an aviator has to say about discipline and good conduct, I dare say he will hear about it soon with or without my intervention,” Laurence said, dryly. 

“Especially since the inn lies that way,” Tharkay said. At Laurence’s questioning look, he added, “The one he marched himself into – it’s just down the street, and full of other soldiers. In truth, I did not expect him to be so easily followed.”

His expression, quite professionally offended, made Laurence laugh, and he turned to continue on their way down the road. “In that case,” he said, “I can hope he finds peace amongst his friends, for he seemed to sorely lack it. No, I have no wish to harass the man. More, I wonder how many are like him.”

“Ready to snap?” Tharkay said, falling into step at his side.

“Fearful of change,” Laurence said, low. “Very fearful. I had not quite considered it before. I had a low opinion of dragons myself, before Temeraire. I was at the battle of the Nile, and they seemed to me there like forces of nature barely in the control of their masters. I know better now, but there may yet be men who do not.”

“Especially men who have only ever experienced them from beneath,” Tharkay said.

“That is what Temeraire will be fighting: men who see claws and teeth, not souls.” Laurence smiled. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, “For giving him the opportunity to do so.”

“You have said so already,” Tharkay said, fidgeting with his walking stick. “Consider me thanked, for heaven’s sake. And remember that you may wish to retract it, when Temeraire has to actually persuade those intractable old lords to change anything.”

* * *

The sun was high in the sky when they came onto the lane near the farmhouse, and heard the distant tenor of Temeraire’s voice.

“Oh! And there they are,” said Temeraire, lifting his great head as they approached. Laurence’s nephews scrambled over Temeraire’s foreleg, hollering greetings across the field. “They asked me where you’d gone, Laurence, so I told them, and then of course I had to tell them all about Tharkay, and I had just gotten to the flight from Danzig—“

“Peace, Temeraire,” Laurence said, once he was close enough that he didn’t have to shout. He had not quite run from the lane, but he had nonetheless outpaced Tharkay, who was laughing quietly behind him. “Pray let us have some introductions first.”

George had five children in total; Mary, the youngest, was still crawling, and Margaret, the eldest at fourteen, was in the process of becoming an accomplished young lady and would likely be having a music lesson at present. The boys, however, were quite at their leisure, and in the past few days had forgotten any nerves they might have felt around Temeraire in favour of treating him as a source of utmost entertainment. Now, having caught sight of his companion, they lined up looking slightly awed. Laurence could imagine how dizzying tales of crossing of the Taklamakan desert, the intrigue of Istanbul, and the Prussian siege must sound to three boys who had never in their lives left Nottingham.

“Tenzing,” he said, “These are my nephews: Thomas—“ Thomas, all of twelve, bowed formally, “—Marcus, and Henry. Boys, this is Tenzing Tharkay.”

“Hullo,” whispered Henry, and then he hid his face behind Marcus’ arm.

Laurence glanced sideways at Tharkay and saw he had composed his face into something grave, though the deep creases at the corners of his eyes gave his humour away. “I am very pleased to meet you,” he said. “Your uncle spent much of this morning telling me about your exploits.” (Laurence had spent perhaps fifteen minutes out of several hours that morning telling Tharkay about his nieces and nephews, but it was polite of him to say nonetheless.)

“Oh, sir,” Marcus blurted out, wide-eyed, “Can you really speak the dragon tongue?”

This was the first of an outpouring of questions about Arkady, and foreign dragons, and what it was like to fly— “Mother says we aren’t to pester uncle about it,” said Marcus, with the pride of a child who had just gotten around a rule. Laurence had indeed not been asked much by his nephews, and was satisfied to find out the reason; he had worried that they simply found him forbidding.

“May we fly? On Temeraire?” Thomas asked suddenly.

“Oh, yes,” Temeraire put in, “Can they, Laurence? I will be ever so careful.”

Laurence, taken aback, was inclined to say no out of hand – he could only imagine what his brother would say – but Temeraire and the children were looking at him with real excitement, Thomas’ eyes shining and Temeraire’s ruff almost quivering. He had the sinking feeling that this was not the first time the topic had come up.

“Certainly not without your mother’s permission,” he said, sure that would put an end to it, and in a moment his nephews had disappeared down the lane towards the house in a noisy flock.

In the end, they had only half an hour to talk with Temeraire about pavilions before a growing clamour announced his nephews’ return, with their mother Elizabeth and Lady Allendale following more sedately behind. His surprise at this afternoon procession was such that he almost forgot to introduce the ladies of the house to Tharkay. They had been in one another’s company for so many years that it had taken him a moment to remember that Tharkay had not been present the last time Laurence went home to Allendale Hall – during the invasion, with a fleet of dragons, there to beg food and a field for the night.

He had not had a chance to tell her, he realised suddenly. Tharkay had only come with his offer last night, at dusk, which in midsummer came long after dinner. Laurence had left quite likely before Lady Allendale rose for the day; he had not told her that he would leave, soon, not to a far-flung corner of the world but to somewhere less than a day’s flight away. She did not know why Tharkay was here, and would not ask, and Tharkay would not tell her before Laurence did.

There was no time - the boys were at Temeraire’s side once more, clamouring for his attention. Elizabeth, her eyes constantly darting to them, said, “The children say that Temeraire has offered to let them fly on his back.”

“He has,” Laurence said, carefully. “It is quite safe with the proper harness, though of course I would promise them nothing without your leave.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together, and then said, “Well, if he’s  _ very _ careful.”

“I,“ said Laurence, astonished. Then, “Very well.”

“Oh, I will be!” said Temeraire, as the boys scrambled over his back in their enthusiasm. “I’ll fly very level, and not too high, since I know they’re not used to it, but I promise you I’ve had boys and girls their age aboard before, and this weather is very fair. Oh, it will be famous, you’ll see!”

With the help of Tharkay, two footmen, and (to somewhat less effect) Thomas, Marcus, and Henry, Temeraire was outfitted with his abbreviated harness within half an hour, and Laurence had enough spare carabiners that all three boys could be safely buckled aboard. Lady Allendale and Elizabeth arranged themselves on a bench with parasols, and supervised.

“Are you sure you won’t come aboard too, Lady Allendale?” Temeraire said earnestly, lowering his head to speak to her. Lady Allendale was now inured to Temeraire enough that the nearness of his teeth did not discomfit her, though Elizabeth, beside her, was still inclined to sway backwards at his approach.

“I thank you for the offer, dear,” Lady Allendale said, “but I think this will be a venture just for the children, and it will give me great pleasure to see you fly with them. Beside,” she added brightly, “It will give me a chance to converse with Mr. Tharkay.” 

Tharkay caught Laurence’s eye as he smiled and said, “I would like nothing better.”

There was no reason at all to think they would not get on, and it would not do at all to look anxious, so Laurence merely nodded and climbed aboard, taking his customary spot at Temeraire’s neck and making one last check that the children’s straps were secure. “Very well, my dear,” he said to Temeraire, “Just a circuit of the estate.”

Temeraire made quite a show of it, walking a little distance further into the field so that the wind of his wings would not knock anyone down, but also being sure to show his best side. Laurence could not begrudge him a little vanity, though, especially when he did indeed fly very carefully, leaping into the air with smooth control so that the children only gasped and laughed as the ground fell away, feeling no jolt at all in the motion. True to his word, he did not go high, flying barely higher than the roof of Wollaton Hall, and gliding low over the lake, causing the children to shriek with surprise when he dipped the end of one wing into the water and flicked up a spray over them all. Laurence could not help but laugh, shaking water out of his hair as Temeraire beat his wings again to gain elevation over the trees. Eventually, with a showy backwing and a moment of hovering overhead, Temeraire came to land mere yards from their onlookers.

Elizabeth and Lady Allendale applauded politely, and Temeraire looked over his shoulder at Laurence with a very pleased expression. The whole act seemed to have done something to endear Temeraire to Elizabeth, for she approached him without a hint of her previous reticence as the children disembarked. They were all in a clamour with their attempts to describe the estate from the air, and she smiled and thanked Temeraire and Laurence quite genuinely before herding her sons back towards the house for their lunch.

“Splendidly done, Temeraire,” Lady Allendale said, then, “Until tomorrow, Mr. Tharkay,” and, with a last smile at Laurence, she also took her leave.

Laurence glanced at Tharkay, who was watching Lady Allendale leave with a mild expression. “Tomorrow?” he murmured.

Tharkay dipped his chin. “Your mother and your sister-in-law have invited me to dinner tomorrow. I am given to understand that Lord Allendale will be all in favour of this just as soon as his wife tells him so.”

“Ah,” said Laurence, who had no trouble imagining George’s reaction. Then, diffidently: “Did you have a pleasant conversation?”

Tharkay grinned at him. “It seems Temeraire told her of our plans this morning, and so she was keen to hear of my perspective on the matter. And of my origins, situation, and connections, though she had a perfectly amiable manner of drawing them out. Was your mother greatly involved in your father’s political career, Will? I feel somewhat as if I have passed one interview and been granted a second.”

If he had not been so genuinely amused, Laurence might have found the situation mortifying. As it was, he merely sighed, and let the blush run its course. “She was, as a matter of fact, and I will likely need to ask her advice on Temeraire’s career as well.”

“Speaking of,” said Tharkay, as Temeraire came trotting back across the field from where he had been supervising the footmen as they put his harness away, “Shall we look at those maps again?”

* * *

The dinner itself went better than Laurence might have hoped. The previous day, he, Tharkay, and Temeraire had settled on a date to depart, and so were able to announce their plans formally at the table. George had only sighed audibly once during the whole meal, which Laurence counted a success. Elizabeth had even had time to round out the numbers for the dinner party with some dear friends of hers, a Mr. and Mrs. Tolman and their eldest daughter Louisa. They proved an excellent addition to the evening: Louisa seemed to be a good friend of Margaret’s, though she was four years her elder, and kept her drawn into the conversation; Mrs. Tolman had a lively interest in politics, particularly changes brought about by the draconic vote, and asked many intelligent questions; and Mr. Tolman seemed only a stout good sort until Tharkay happened to mention his interest in birds, at which point Mr. Tolman sat very upright and announced that he himself was a keen falconer. 

At the end of the dinner, they retired to the parlour, where two tables were set up for whist. Tharkay and Mr. Tolman spent much of the game discussing their preferred hunting hawks; by the end of the first hand, they had begun to compare the scars on their knuckles and the birds that had bestowed them, and took no exception when George asked Laurence to accompany him to the balcony for some fresh air. The ladies, for their part, seemed deep in discussion of a novel, and were not troubled.

“Heavens,” George muttered, as soon as the door was shut, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Phillip speak so much in a single evening.”

Laurence, who had likewise rarely heard Tharkay expound on any subject with such enthusiasm, wondered if that was what he sounded like when he spoke of ships to his friends in the Aerial Corps. “I am glad that they have a mutual interest,” he ventured. “It was good of Elizabeth to introduce them.”

“Perhaps if we leave them to it, they’ll exhaust themselves,” George said, with a firm nod, and settled his elbows upon the balcony so he could look out into the warm evening. 

Laurence followed suit, seeking out Temeraire by long habit, and took comfort in the sight of him winging in slow circles far above, enjoying the last warm updrafts of the day. George followed his gaze, cleared his throat, and said, “So you won’t be off to some far corner of the world after all.”

“No,” Laurence said. It still made him feel very light to say so. “Tharkay’s estate is north of Glasgow, and Temeraire can fly there from here in less than a day. We can leave early in the morning and arrive in time for supper.”

“And you’ll be retiring,” George pressed. “Not… haring off into trouble again.”

Laurence felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. George was not their father, and so Laurence did not fear his disappointment quite so much; but he was now Lord Allendale, and therefore had every right to be concerned for their family’s good name. Laurence had spent many years staining it in one way or another, and though he neither could nor would change any of his actions, he could not help but be sensible of the strain he had put George under by his exploits.

“Yes, I will retire,” he said. “I mean to dedicate myself to Temeraire’s election to Parliament.” 

“Parliament? I see.” George looked a little pale. “I don’t suppose Mother will be involved in that?”

“I may ask her for advice from time to time,” Laurence hedged.

“What an alliance,” George muttered. “But you will stay in Britain?”

“Yes,” Laurence said, “I have no intention of travelling any further than Loch Laggan for the foreseeable future.”

“Good,” said George, with a gusty sigh, his shoulders dropping, “I am very glad to hear it. We shan’t hear any more of you being, oh, shipwrecked, or shot, or transported to Australia for the term of your natural life.” 

“No indeed,” said Laurence, low.

“And I am sure you will be able to send more frequent letters.”

“Yes. That is - I will.”

“Excellent.” George turned to him then, and, perhaps seeing something in Laurence’s expression which he was struggling to control, said, “Er - your friend Tharkay seems a good fellow.”

Laurence grasped the change of subject with both hands. “He is,” he said, “He has saved my life and Temeraire’s many times.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said George. Then, inexplicably: “Have you given any more thought to marrying?”

“Oh - to whom?” Laurence said, bewildered.

“Well,” said George, with a slightly desperate look on his face, “I am sure you must have met some suitable women in the Corps, who would understand your position. I understand you are friends with Her Grace Admiral Roland?”

His words hung between them. Laurence was aware that his whole family was under the misapprehension that Emily Roland was his bastard, despite her having been eight years old when he first met her mother. Nonetheless, they were in some wise right about his relationship with Jane, though he could not begin to explain what it was now. He certainly didn’t know how to explain that he had already proposed to her, years before, and she had cheerfully rejected it; and afterwards he had committed treason, and she had excoriated him on the grounds of this very house for how he’d gone about it. That they were friends again was a relief; he doubted she had ever wanted anything else. All he could think to say was, “Why would she wish to marry me?”

“Why-?” George looked as bewildered as Laurence felt. “I don’t - that is...”

The moment stretched, excruciating.

“Perhaps we should return to the parlour,” George said at last.

“Yes, let’s,” Laurence said fervently, and gestured for George to precede him back into the house. 

By the time they rejoined everybody in the parlour, George had regained enough equilibrium to return Mr. Tolman’s greeting with equal enthusiasm. Tharkay met Laurence’s eye with a quick, questioning look, but Laurence gave a very brief shake of his head, and, aloud, suggested a second round of whist. Thus they passed the rest of the evening in a far more peaceful fashion.

* * *

The day of departure came at last. At Elizabeth’s insistence, Tharkay joined them for breakfast, and it was a warm enough morning that they could have it on the lawn, so that Temeraire could join them for it. They lingered longer than they had meant to, for the conversation flowed very pleasantly, but the hour came on them, and they had to go if they were to make it to the Kilsyth Hills before night.

Loading their baggage into Temeraire’s harness took little time, for by habit neither Laurence nor Tharkay traveled with much. Temeraire was preoccupied with the boys, who were exclaiming very loudly how much they would miss him, and their mother and Lady Allendale, who were saying much the same thing but in far more decorous tones. Margaret, who had had the least exposure to Temeraire of anyone but the baby, hung back by the breakfast table.

Tharkay glanced over Laurence’s shoulder, abruptly said, “I’ll just make the final checks,” and shinned up Temeraire’s side before Laurence could respond. At the sound of a rustle behind him, Laurence turned to find his brother approaching with his hands clasped behind his back. George stopped in front of him, his lips pursed.

Laurence couldn’t quite think of what to say. “Thank you,” he began, “For providing Temeraire and I with a place to stay,” but George waved his hand with an irritated expression.

“No, don’t thank me. A place to stay? For heaven’s sake.” He stuck out his hand, and Laurence took it; George shook it very firmly. “I do wish you the best of luck,” he said. 

“Thank you,” Laurence said again. George was still shaking his hand.

“You will write, of course.”

“Yes, of course,” said Laurence, almost exasperated, but George finally smiled.

“Good. Well. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Laurence said. George let go, and stepped away, and it was time.

With last farewells, and the flight-check done, Laurence climbed aboard. Tharkay sat in his customary place at his right, squinting at the sky to the north with a keen assessing look, and Laurence followed his gaze. No clouds massed there, nor any telling haze: it would be clear weather for miles and miles.

“Goodbye!” said Temeraire, as he spread his wings. “You have been such wonderful hosts, and I should like very much to see you all again soon. Visit us if you can!” And with that, he leapt into the air, and they were away.


	2. Chapter 2

The flight to Scotland was long, but pleasant. The summer air lifted Temeraire so that he rarely had to beat his wings, and the dense patchwork of fields below, cornered here and there by villages or woods, looked rather charming, almost dainty. Everything in Britain was so much smaller in scale than China, where one might fly for days and not leave the farmland behind. Even the wilder, hillier parts of the country were so small that they passed quickly by, with little change in wind or temperature - much easier than flying over the frozen or mountainous parts of the world, where he had struggled to keep aloft in the frigid air, and nowhere promised food or shelter.

Well, he wasn’t in any such place now; nor would he ever have to endure another Russian winter. The headwind was cool, but the updrafts were warm, and on his back were Laurence and Tharkay, their voices calm and easy.

There were changes to the landscape that Temeraire had not yet had the chance to see, having spent so much of the last few years abroad - in particular, the simple pavilions dotted across the landscape, tucked away in mountain valleys or set out on lonely peaks. Skirting around Leeds, Temeraire saw one large wooden pavilion on a hillside that was well-attended by small and mid-weight dragons, some with obvious captains and some without. Temeraire could smell mutton and boiled barley on the wind. He roared a hearty greeting as he flew past, and the chorus of roars he received in return buoyed him almost as much as the wind. 

It drizzled over the Yorkshire Dales and all the way to Carlisle, but this did not dampen any of their moods, or halt their conversation, and by the time the smoke of Glasgow was passing them to the west they had quite dried out. Tharkay guided him from there over the Kilsyth hills, pointing out the village, and from there it was a short flight up the little river to Garrelburn House.

Temeraire wasn’t much judge of houses, since with few exceptions they were not large enough to accommodate him, but this seemed a grand, sturdy place as he landed outside. The manor was made of weathered brown stone, with three storeys of windows and many charming little turrets; much of it was covered with ivy. There was a handsome carriage house just across the forecourt, which he thought must be uninhabited since he could not hear any sound of nervous horses within. Over the little wall of the forecourt was a wide meadow, very thick with grass and wildflowers, which looked invitingly soft, and beyond that a few acres of woodland, and hills beyond purple with heather. The whole place looked a little overgrown, but Temeraire supposed that Tharkay had not had much time to do anything with it.

As Laurence and Tharkay swung down from his neck, three people emerged from the house: a short, jowly woman hastily wiping her hands upon her apron, a girl not much taller than Emily Roland, and a young man who whipped his hat off his head when the young woman elbowed him. Their eyes seemed very wide as they looked at Temeraire, and he was sure to give them his friendliest smile to put them at their ease. Tharkay introduced these three as Mrs. Tambour, the housekeeper, her daughter Penny, the maid, and her son James, the gardener. Though they seemed very quiet people, they were nonetheless quick about helping to get the baggage all inside.

By the time Temeraire had removed his harness - always a time-consuming affair, even with a full ground-crew to undo all those little buckles, and quite a bit more so with only two capable men and one nervous gardener helping - he had identified the delicious smell in the air as mutton, and realised he was not only hungry but very sleepy too. He had really been too idle during his time at Wollaton Hall, that such an easy flight should tax him, however long it had been; and he resolved not to show it. “I shall fly over the grounds before it gets too dark, and see the places where I might put a pavilion with my own eyes,” he announced, stowing the bundled harness inside the open door of the carriage house. “I spent much of the flight thinking about it.” 

“Would you like to do it before or after supper?” Laurence said. “Mrs. Tambour says it will be ready in no more than half an hour.”

“Oh, well, that is not very long, and I should not like to hold up supper,” Temeraire said.

And so they conversed a little while longer, and before long, James the gardener wheeled out two handsome roasted sheep, stuffed with a mixture of oats, onions, mushrooms, and offal, which Temeraire set to with enthusiasm while Laurence and Tharkay retired inside for their own meal.

And he meant to go flying afterwards, he really did, but he only made it as far as the meadow before deciding that he was far too full and the grass was far too soft. He was sure he had closed his eyes for a moment when he felt Laurence’s hand upon his nose. “Goodnight, my dear,” he heard, and fell fast asleep.

* * *

By daylight, Garrelburn Hall was tidy in the sort of way that spoke of recent scrubbing, and full of empty spaces where things ought to be. The house had been ransacked, that much was plain to Laurence’s eyes, wherever it had not been neglected half to ruin. There was furniture enough to be perfectly comfortable - his own room was well-appointed - but he could see how much of it was new. It might take Tharkay some time to restore the place to glory.

There were bare spots on the walls where paintings had been removed; little dents on the wood floors that spoke of vanished chairs and sideboards; and one large, rectangular section of the entry hall floor that was noticeably paler than the wood around it, where Tharkay fondly recalled a carpet his father had brought back from Hereke. 

“It was all gone by the time I arrived at the door with a solicitor,” he said. “I do not doubt it’s all been sold by now, for my cousins were hemorrhaging money; they’d been dismissing staff for years. One of the footmen was accused of stealing that carpet and was transported to Australia for it - though I cannot prove it, I suspect it is more likely that my cousins used him as a middleman, and disposed of him when he ceased to be useful. Still,” he added with a wry tilt to his mouth, “Some things escaped their grasp.”

At this, he carefully lifted the painting he held in his hands, and placed it on the wall. It was a wedding portrait; not large, the kind of thing meant to sit on a mantlepiece, or perhaps on a lady’s dressing-table. But the lady in question had never come to this house. The portrait showed Tharkay’s father, pale and solemn in his uniform and periwig, his hands covering his bride’s; and Tharkay’s mother, resplendent in scarlet and gold wedding clothes, a small smile on her face. Tharkay really did look very like her.

Mrs. Tambour, Laurence learned, had hidden the portrait in the attic many years ago. She had been a maid here when Tharkay was a child, and fond of him.

Tharkay smiled as he stepped back from the wall; the set of his shoulders changed subtly, as if loosening for the first time that Laurence had really noticed. It gave Laurence pleasure to see it, but then the wedding portrait and his brother’s words came together in his mind, and he thought suddenly of Sara Maden. For some years now, she had been married to a respectable man in Istanbul who could inherit her father’s business; but she had waited years before that for someone else. She ought to have been the lady of this house, helping Tharkay unearth the neglected treasures here. If his fortunes had been different, she would have been his wife.

But it was not so, and the thought lasted only a moment, for there was not a hint of sadness on Tharkay’s face; he turned, and Laurence couldn’t help but smile back. “Shall I show you the library?” Tharkay said. “It’s fifteen years out of date, but you’ll like the maps.”

“By all means,” Laurence said, and followed him; and for all that another life might have been more just, he could not help but be selfishly glad that he was here now.

The maps were beautifully detailed, mostly depicting stretches of the Silk Road, and Nepal in particular. Many were incomplete - clearly projects that Tharkay’s father had still been working on when he died - and Laurence spotted notebooks on the various tables of the room that he knew to contain Tharkay’s own sketches. Such personal maps were a necessity of the kind of travel he did, alone in wild places, but Laurence had also seen him sketching in those notebooks many times from Temeraire’s shoulder. Travel on the wing provided unparalleled opportunity for seeing the true shape of the world.

“Do you mean to finish these maps yourself?” Laurence asked.

“Perhaps,” Tharkay said, with unusual diffidence. “I should like to. Besides, I must have something to do with myself other than run this estate - however long it might take to get the place up and running again.”

“It seems to me you have made a good start to it,” Laurence said, for it was the truth: there were workmen commissioned already to make repairs to the roof and road, and the Tambours installed in the cottage down the lane.

“We shall see,” Tharkay said.

* * *

They consulted on the matter of a cook - soonest needed out of all staff, for while Mrs. Tambour had proven herself capable of feeding a dragon, and had seemed somewhat offended when Laurence offered to take up the task, it was still rather an onerous amount of work to expect of her alongside all her other duties. Temeraire was, of course, perfectly capable of hunting deer for himself, but since Tharkay meant to manage the herd that lived on his estate, they could not be hunted often. One Mr. Loughlin, a retired Navy steward who had served aboard dragon transports, was hired to manage the kitchen; he was picked as much for his cheerful imperturbability as he was for his good roast dinners, and so the household grew a little more.

Eventually, Temeraire would also need a secretary, but Laurence could perform that function for now, since he had little else to do. The last general election had been called only recently, and Temeraire had at least a season before the next by-election to get to grips with the political landscape before making his bid for the borough. He had stated his intention to make good use of that time by making what contacts and allies he could. “Though I suppose I shall spend much of the London season letting Perscitia tell me what to do,” he said ruefully.

Tharkay had set men to work on a new stable much closer to the road, so that he could keep horses without them being troubled by the sight of any dragons. James the gardener, his work cut out for him already, had expressed an ambition to plant a rose garden, which Temeraire had heartily endorsed. For Laurence, though, the most urgent matter at present was the disposition of Temeraire’s pavilion. After some consideration (and a diverting day’s flight around the estate), Temeraire had settled on a site: a hill not a quarter mile’s distance from the main house. It afforded a view of the road, and of the moorland in several directions, and was close to a wide, shallow bend in the stream that would be excellent for drinking and bathing which was just downriver from a pretty little waterfall whose descent had carved out a grotto in the rocks.

Having chosen the area, of course, the matter of the pavilion’s design now arose.

“I have been writing to Churki on the matter, and she has been most informative,” Temeraire said, his ruff quivering with enthusiasm. “Did you know, Laurence, that it takes a surprisingly small amount of gold to cover a whole building?”

Laurence had until that point been imagining something like the pavilion they had built in Australia, but now the image of a vast gold pavilion filled his mind in rather the same way a tidal wave fills the horizon. He had no idea how to word his feelings at the notion.

“Why, it could blind the countryside for miles around,” Tharkay murmured, with too much delight for a man whose estate might soon be crowned with a gilded folly.

“My dear,” Laurence tried, “Perhaps you ought to reserve the gold for the interior decoration?” At Temeraire's frown, he hastened, "Only think of how gilding might... flake, in this climate," having no idea whether it would, and knowing from Temeraire's unchanged expression that he was inclined to be skeptical. Tharkay made a stifled noise that Laurence was prepared to ignore, for friendship’s sake. He tried, "It might act as a beacon to thieves." 

This, at least, gave Temeraire pause.

"You don’t really think so, do you?" he said, casting an anxious look at the building site. "Only, I would not want anyone chipping at the walls, and it is true that it would look so uncommonly nice. Oh!" He swung his head around. "Not that your house is not very nice indeed, Tharkay," he added earnestly.

"Not at all, Temeraire," Tharkay said merrily, "for I will admit that it is not all over gold."

Laurence experienced the brief, powerful urge to step on his foot. Instead, he said in as calm and sensible a manner as he knew, "It would certainly attract attention for being so out of the common way. And besides, surely you would be able to spend more time looking at the gold if it was on the inside, where you would sleep?"

“But Laurence,” Temeraire said, lowering his head so they were as near eye-to-eye as possible. “I could have  _ both _ .”

Laurence took a deep breath, and held it; behind him, Tharkay let out an unmistakable laugh.

“Temeraire,” Laurence said. “Not even the imperial palace in China is covered in gold. Not even your mother’s own pavilion.”

Temeraire clawed the ground a little, raising furrows in the sod. “That’s true,” he admitted, grudgingly. “There is still  _ some _ .”

“Only to embellish,” Laurence said. “You would not be able to see any elegant patterns, if it were all one colour.”

Temeraire’s ruff drooped.

Tharkay coughed, and added, “Gold is quite soft. If it is on a wall at a height for anyone to lean against, man or dragon, then it might easily be rubbed off, and you will be forever replacing it.”

“Oh,” Temeraire said, “that is a good point. It would be quite a bother.”

He looked so crestfallen that Laurence’s heart was moved to pity, although not quite enough to temper his relief – he shot Tharkay a grateful look before he patted Temeraire’s nose and said, “There are any number of ways to carve stone quite elegantly, and many ways you might decorate it inside and out that would be both hard-wearing and beautiful.”

Temeraire sighed, and said, “You’re right - I have seen many ungilded buildings that are lovely on the outside. And I am sure my pavilion can be even lovelier on the inside. I do not mean to be impractical; it is only that, if I am to have a political career, then I should like my pavilion to be impressive, and to be a place where I might proudly host others for dinner and discussion. Perscitia insists that her boring little brick pavilions are quite enough for her, but I also know that she has some trouble convincing other dragons that her endeavors are worthwhile when she seemingly has so little to show for it.”

“Well, she hasn’t enjoyed quite your share of prize money, my dear,” he said, to be fair to Perscitia. However, Temeraire had made a sensible point: Laurence had rarely met a dragon who was not made more tractable by the evidence of expense. Then he thought of the inside of every palace, Parliament building, and permanent military headquarters he had ever seen and realised that it might be unfair to think that only dragons were so inclined. “...Perhaps something on the roof,” he said, “like a dome.” 

He glanced at Tharkay, who nodded thoughtfully. “That is commonly done, and always looks impressive.”

Temeraire’s blue eyes gleamed. “Especially from the air! What an excellent idea.”

So it was decided, and they could consider the more dull and pragmatic questions of dimensions, rooms, and amenities that this pavilion would have; and Laurence took Temeraire’s dictation for a letter to commission a building firm that Excidium had personally recommended.

* * *

While work commenced on the pavilion, and improvements continued on the house, Laurence found himself quite busy indeed with letter-writing - to friends, to former crew members, to his family, and on Temeraire’s behalf. He did much of this in Tharkay’s sunny south parlour, and before long found he had quite taken it over. Tharkay did not seem to mind in the slightest, and often joined him there when he had letters of his own to write. Sometimes they read aloud to one another - Tharkay passed on news of Istanbul from Avram Maden, and of his cousins’ latest schemes; Laurence received news of Prussia from Captain Dyhern, and remarked on how often Emily Roland and Demane mentioned one another in their separate missives. Sipho’s letters were always full of questions that provided fodder for many hours of conversation, and Tharkay helped him select books to send to the boy, along with pages of tricky mathematical puzzles of Temeraire’s devising.

More often, though, they shared the silence, and Laurence got used to looking up to see Tharkay gazing out the window, his fingers to his lips, deep in thought. And so, much of August seemed to pass with the gentle scratching of pens, and the less gentle sounds of distant hammering. 

Their lives fell quickly into an amiable routine. Friends visited: Iskierka inspected the site where Temeraire’s pavilion would be and almost instantly provoked a row about how much better her chosen location would have been, while John Granby cheerily toured the house and told Tharkay how much he liked what he’d done with the place. They visited the village occasionally, and it was gratifying to hear local men address Tharkay by name. Stray sheep would sometimes wander onto the estate, and require rescuing.

They visited Glasgow once. It was booming, with a populace nearing that of Edinburgh, and Laurence enjoyed a few hours gawking at the shipyard and port; however, the effects of heavy industry on the town did make him long for the clean air of the Kilsyth Hills, and when Tharkay returned from his own business he was tight-lipped and especially sardonic. Temeraire, of course, could not come too near the city without frightening its horses.

No, the estate remained their haven; Laurence already suspected he would miss the place when the London season began. 

In September, though, Tharkay began to absent himself from the house for unexpected stretches of time. Laurence hardly noticed, at first, until one morning when Tharkay did not come down for breakfast, and Laurence, feeling unforgivably nosy, walked past his room and found the door ajar and the bed still made. He asked Penny if she had done it that morning, and she said no; for Tharkay had given her instructions not to enter any of the bedrooms while they were occupied, and she had quite reasonably assumed his still was.

Tharkay returned midmorning, to general relief. He did not explain where he had been, though he did say that he had not intended to stay quite so late. He was under no obligation to explain himself; he could come and go as he pleased, as he always had from Laurence’s life; but that did not stop Laurence from dwelling on the matter. He could not help himself. Tharkay had been generally quite forthcoming about his business since they had arrived - here to greet a new tenant, there to speak to the baillie - and so these unexplained absences were marked.

The first explanation that sprang to mind was that he had met someone, and was stealing away to visit her. This thought gave him a pang he could not explain, but a part of him would be glad if it was the case, for Tharkay deserved happiness. He only hoped Tharkay was careful, for any hint of scandal would damage his standing in the village.

Then came a rainy night in Autumn, when the leaves were thick on the ground, and Tharkay had been gone long enough that the Tambours had retired to their cottage for the night. Laurence had not stayed up so late on purpose - it was only that he had been reading and conversing with Temeraire until the sun set. He had headed for bed, and partially undressed, but then remembered spotting a book in the library that concerned one of the topics of their conversation, which he was quite keen to continue tomorrow. It proved engaging enough that he lost track of the time, and startled when he heard a thump from downstairs. The clock showed it was near midnight.

He descended the stair, deliberately quiet on stockinged feet - he doubted anyone would be foolish enough to rob a house with a dragon in residence, but if it was a stranger in the house he meant to be an unpleasant surprise. Instead, lit by a single candle on the hall table, he saw Tharkay, taking off his third-best coat. His manner struck Laurence as odd - his expression was very weary, and his movements slow - but it was quickly explained when he slipped the coat half off, and the candle illuminated a patch of bright blood gleaming on his waistcoat.

Laurence must have made a noise, for Tharkay startled, and then grimaced as he jarred his wound, but Laurence did not wait; he strode forward, helped Tharkay out of his coat, which rustled as if full of paper as he hung it up, and said, “Tenzing, what happened?”

Tharkay sighed, clasping one hand over the wound. “I was struck with a board.”

“You’re bleeding.” Laurence’s hand hovered over Tharkay’s, barely restraining the urge to touch.

“The board may have had a nail in it,” Tharkay admitted, his voice strained. “I attracted some unwelcome attention. The matter is resolved, I promise.”

Laurence bit down the first thing he wanted to say, and the second; this was no time for an interrogation, nor was Tharkay likely to have gotten into a fight on purpose. “Let me help you bandage it, at least.”

Tharkay stared at him for a moment, a searching look in his eyes, and then relented. “To the kitchen, then,” he said.

Laurence lit candles in the kitchen, and set a small pot of water on the stove to boil - he was no physician, but had bled often enough himself to know what to do. While Tharkay sat and unbuttoned his waistcoat, Laurence searched the linen cupboard for something suitable for bandages, silently apologising to Mrs. Tambour as he absconded with a clean sheet. 

He tipped a heap of salt into the water, stirred it, and set it aside to cool while he cut the linen into strips. Now that Tharkay was down to his shirt, Laurence could see how large the patch of blood was upon it; Tharkay needed help to get it over his head, and though he was silent, the strain showed on his face. Laurence knelt by his side to better see the wound. “Two nails,” he said, his voice harsher than he meant it to be.

The board had hit below the ribs, and hard, but three layers of clothing had at least done something to deaden the blow: the puncture wounds did not seem very deep, and they were bleeding only sluggishly. That was a mercy - it was time, then, and movement that had made Tharkay bleed so much. Laurence washed the wound with the warm salt water, revealing bruises already starting to purple on Tharkay’s skin. Tharkay let out a small hiss at the sting of salt, no more than that; his breathing was very controlled. For want of anywhere else to put his hand, he gripped Laurence’s shoulder, and that, oddly, steadied Laurence. He bathed the wound carefully and thoroughly, wringing the blood into the basin. When he was quite sure it was clean, he bade Tharkay lean forward. He pressed a wad of linen to the wound, and said quietly, “Hold that, please,” and when Tharkay did it freed Laurence to wrap the last length of bandage around his body. “There. Not too tight?”

He looked up, and found Tharkay staring back, his eyes dark and unreadable. He swallowed, and murmured, “No, it will do very well. Thank you.” He lifted his hand from Laurence’s shoulder and folded it against his chest, an oddly hesitant gesture. The knuckles, Laurence noted with concern, were swollen and red.

Laurence gathered up the bowl and rag, and ignored the way his knees creaked when he stood; they protested the length of time he had been kneeling on that stone floor. He lent Tharkay his hand, and pulled him to his feet. Tharkay gathered his clothes, and held them to his chest. 

He was so quiet, and looked deep in thought - or maybe it was only that he had had a violently eventful night, and was very tired. He preceded Laurence up the stairs, Laurence’s hand hovering at the bandage-wrapped small of his back, but he was steady. The candle in Laurence’s hand cast flickering shadows on his straight spine, and the wings of his shoulder blades.

At the top of the stair, Tharkay said, with a small smile, “You have been very patient. I thank you for that, too.”

“With all your mysterious absences, I rather thought you might be courting someone,” Laurence confessed. At Tharkay’s slightly incredulous expression, Laurence could only say, “Well, I don’t think it any more, unless something went terribly wrong.”

Tharkay burst out laughing, and immediately made a sound of pain; Laurence had to take his shoulder to keep him upright.

“You don’t have to explain,” Laurence said. “I only hope you are not in danger.”

Tharkay hiccoughed out one last laugh, and sighed. “I am not,” he said. “No, tonight was only an uncommon miscalculation. I will explain - tomorrow.”

“Very well, Laurence said. He passed Tharkay the candle. “Goodnight, Tenzing. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Will,” Tharkay murmured, and they parted at Laurence’s door.

* * *

The next morning, Laurence woke early from an uneasy sleep, but was able to assure a concerned Mrs. Tambour that Tharkay was indeed home, and apologised for the loss of the sheet and the state of Tharkay’s things, bloodstained as they were. 

Temeraire asked after Tharkay when Laurence went out to greet him, and Laurence, conscious of how violently protective Temeraire could be, gave him a slightly edited version of events from the night before. As it was, Temeraire destroyed a swathe of wildflowers with an agitated sweep of his tail. “I had thought him safe here,” he said, “I thought both of you quite safe. Unless - I do not suppose it is work on behalf of the Government?”

“I do not know,” Laurence said honestly, though Temeraire had voiced the very thought that had kept him awake the night before.

“I suppose I assumed he had retired from all that, just because we had. I had thought, without the war, there might be no more to be done.” Temeraire raked a furrow in the earth, and then patted the sod down again. “I suppose that was silly of me.”

“I assumed it too,” Laurence said, and stroked Temeraire’s muzzle until he was calm again.

Laurence would not have blamed Tharkay if he slept the day away, but he descended a little after 10 o’clock, respectably dressed but moving more carefully than usual, and took a light breakfast - or as light as he could get out of Mr. Loughlin, who did not ever serve eggs one at a time, nor toast that was less than an inch thick. Laurence took tea with him, and felt some sympathy for the way Mrs. Tambour hovered about the adjoining rooms, finding necessary housekeeping to do that discreetly kept her within earshot.

Tharkay could not have failed to notice it, so Laurence took it as a mark of his regard for her and her discretion that he did not move their conversation behind a closed door before beginning his story.

“I was asked, some weeks ago, to investigate a local group suspected of seditious activity,” Tharkay began. “They did not sound very alarming - agitators at worst - but, since I am in the area, I was asked to find their meetings, sit in on them, and report if there was anything more to it than the normal sort of complaints. They were based, I thought, in Glasgow, but I quickly discovered that the meetings they held there were only a sort of recruiting ground for more exclusive meetings, held out of the city, at ever-changing locations. I achieved an invitation to one such meeting, to be held last night in Kirkintilloch.” He grimaced down at his tea, and took a sip. “At first, it was not much more than the expected airing of grievances: new laws they hated, politicians they despised, their understanding of the political landscape of Europe and how they disapproved of it. Nothing alarming. What troubled me was the information the ringleaders had on subjects of which they, by rights, should have known nothing.”

“What subjects?” Laurence asked.

Tharkay flashed a brief smile, and reached into his pocket. “See for yourself,” he said. “They helpfully provided us all with further reading.”

It was a cheaply-made pamphlet, uncredited to any author, blaringly titled  A JUNGLE EMPRESS SITS ATOP THE THRONE OF EUROPE . It stained his fingers grey with ink the moment he picked it up. It was about Anaharque - or a bizarre, cartoonish version of her that only existed in the mind of the pamphlet’s paranoid writer - and it was full of wild speculation about what she planned to do now that she was regent of France. It insinuated that she had diabolically clever plans beyond the dreams of Napoleon, whilst simultaneously condemning her as too ill-bred to be competent or intelligent. It also baldly questioned the parentage of her infant son, and listed possible alternative fathers, including, obliquely, himself. Lurid as it was, he wouldn’t have thought it any more than a cynical way to gin up pennies, but amongst the grimy prose were disquieting accuracies: details of incidents that Laurence remembered as fact because he had been present when they happened. 

He looked up with a raised eyebrow. “What do you think?” Tharkay said.

Laurence said, “I think I felt cleaner holding a pirate’s copy of  _ Fanny Hill. _ ” 

Tharkay grinned, quick and sharp. “Yes, well, I fancied the title was warning enough,” he said. Laurence dropped the pamphlet onto the table between them.

“There are details in there that I know are not common knowledge,” Laurence said. “The information about Anaharque’s reasons for marrying a foreigner, for example, and even the composition of the Incan court - I know they were not in any newspapers, and a very limited number of witnesses. Its depiction of our final battle against Napoleon goes against the public narrative, and it, too, is accurate. It says almost directly that Anaharque betrayed him to us, which is information that I believe very few people know.”

Tharkay nodded. “I thought so too. One accuracy amongst all that dross would be counted a lucky guess; even two would only be a coincidence. Upwards of four is a leak, though from which side and to what end, I do not know.”

Laurence grimaced at the offending booklet. “I do not like to think that any crewman of the Corps was so loose-lipped.” Let alone a crewman of Lily’s formation. Was it one of his own, by God?

“Well, the alternative is that whoever wrote this has been fed their information by a member of Napoleon’s retinue,” Tharkay said, with perverse cheer. At Laurence’s expression, he waved a hand. “Do not let it worry you - what is in there is not particularly sensitive information; it is only the source that is a matter of concern.”

“What will you do now?” Laurence said, and, belatedly remembering the reason he was being told all this in the first place, “And how were you injured?”

Tharkay sighed. “What I do now is send this-” he picked up the pamphlet - “and my report to parties that can do something with it, for my involvement in this particular matter is at an end. When the meeting was over, I was followed from the house by two fellows who had become suspicious of me, and would not be put off. It was a stupid mistake.” He looked faintly embarrassed.

“I am glad it was a mistake you survived,” Lauence said. He could only imagine, looking at the purple bruises blooming across Tharkay’s knuckles, how narrow an escape it must have been.


	3. Chapter 3

The builders had erected a wooden structure on Temeraire’s hill that would act as a scaffolding for the building they would ultimately construct - and, with a temporary roof in place, would also shelter Temeraire from the rain and wind in the meantime. With his writing box there, the stream for bathing, and meals from Mr. Loughlin twice a day, it was starting to feel a properly civilised way to live.

He was there one drizzly morning, taking tea with Laurence and reading the day’s edition of the  _ Herald _ , when he spotted a familiar silhouette against the clouds. “Look, Laurence, it’s Minnow!” he said, and roared a halloo. Laurence, seated on Temeraire’s foreleg, folded the section of newspaper he had been reading out and put it aside.

Minnow arrived in a flurry of wings, poking her head at once into the pavilion and nosing around. In place of a harness, she wore a colourful sort of sash, trimmed with tinsel, to which her satchel was attached; in flight, the satchel rested on her back, but when she landed, she could easily pull the whole thing around to her chest, and thus access it. “Hello! What a place. It’s big, isn’t it? Is it nearly finished?”

“Not at all,” Temeraire said. “It will be stone in the end, with a glass roof for light, and a dome atop it; it might take more than a year to complete.”

“Oh, what a shame,” said Minnow, settling on her haunches. “Only imagine having to wait so long. You don’t get that with caves.” Before Temeraire could respond to that, she reached into the satchel and extracted a parcel of letters. “From Her Grace the Admiral!”

Laurence took them in exchange for some of Temeraire’s coin, and offered her tea besides, in his polite way; she was small enough that she could likely make do with whatever was left in his teapot. But she declined.

“Never got a taste for the stuff,” she said blithely. “But I do hope you’ll come, for I’ll be there too, and Moncey and all my fellows from our company!”

“Come? Come where?” Temeraire said.

“To the ball! That’s what’s in the letters - invitations from Admiral Roland. There’s to be a ball at the beginning of November in that new estate of hers, and she’s invited all sorts - half the dragons of the Corps, it seems like, and a lot of us non-commissioned officers as well; and all sorts from the Army and so on that she fought with at the Peninsula, and their wives. Some lords too, I think? I should like to see a ball up close; I bet it don’t half glitter.” 

“How grand!” said Temeraire, and with a careful claw slit open his own envelope, rather larger than the other two. The invitation within was edged in gold, which was very pretty, and in large looping letters gave the date of a ball to be held at Wentworth Castle. “Oh, she has bought that castle after all - I am glad Excidium talked her into it. I do think a duchess ought to have one. Only think of the tactical advantage, should the country be invaded again!”

Laurence, who was scanning the letter that accompanied his invitation, said dryly, “I am sure it crossed her mind.” To Minnow: “Are they settled there already?”

At this prompting, Minnow launched into a lively description of the place, detailing its great size and imposing front, and the little tower keep nearby, which Excidium declared to be tactically almost useless, but amused himself by curling about like a creature from a fairy tale. It sounded like a wonderful place for a ball, anyway, with grounds large enough to host a dozen formations. Having dispensed this gossip, she took her leave. “I can make good time to Loch Laggan with the rest of these invitations, and be in Edinburgh in time for dinner. Farewell!” And she fluttered away.

Temeraire said, “It’s an exciting prospect, but I must admit I did not expect Admiral Roland of all people to host a ball.”

Laurence laughed, and said, “I dare say she wouldn’t of her own volition, but her new title comes with certain obligations. She seems to be taking it as an opportunity to cement the good standing of the Corps.” And he began to read her letter aloud.

Indeed, Roland confessed she had never enjoyed a single ball she had been to previously, but remarked: 

> _ In my own house I shall do as I please, and so I shall not have any woman of the Corps obligated to dress in skirts if she does not expressly wish to. I for one will be in my uniform, for that is how these Lords know me and I’ll be damned if I undermine myself with petticoats now - to say nothing of how little room there is on a bodice for one’s medals. I daresay it won’t shock these Peninsula veterans overmuch, and it might give their wives and daughters something to ponder. Wellington accuses me of wishing to start the Season with an uproar, but I notice that sentiment did not stop him from giving me mountains of unasked-for advice on how to host it, nor from talking with enthusiasm on who he will speak to (or lob his opinions at) when he is there. He might at least be restrained if the Duke of Kent shows up - and he ought to, since it was at his urging that I agreed to hold this ball. At his hinting, rather, but I know very well it is one and the same from a prince. _
> 
> _ Your mother is invited too, of course, and your brother - belated thanks for their assistance those years ago, and of course your mother has been a font of good counsel. I should wish her an administrator in the Corps, if she were not content with her current obligations. I might persuade her yet. _
> 
> _ As there shall be enough dragons in attendance to frighten every horse in Yorkshire, I anticipate a large amount of my budget shall go to nosegays and blinders, or else my other guests shall be obliged to arrive on foot. I understand Temeraire has political ambitions - well, he shall find some practice here, for Perscitia is coming and, I think, means to lobby half the men in attendance on matters dear to her constituency. Tell Mr. Tharkay he shall not duck out, either, for I doubt we’d have had such success in Spain if not for the work he did among the ferals there, and I mean to put sundry Officers in such a position that they are obliged to tell him so. If he demurs, kidnap him. _
> 
> _ Yours &c., _
> 
> _ Jane _

* * *

Tharkay did not, to Laurence’s relief, require kidnapping. “Though I shall not dance and nothing will induce me,” he added.

“A pity,” Laurence said fondly. “Since dancing’s half the point of a ball.”

“I shall claim grievous injury and beg off,” said Tharkay, who had recovered very well from his fight. Then he raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean you shall? I admit, Will, I should dearly like to see it.”

Laurence, who was possessed of an enthusiasm for the idea that he had not felt in years, had to laugh at himself. “I used to be very fond of dancing,” he admitted. “There was nothing I liked better than a ball - all the conviviality of it. But that was long ago.” Before he became an aviator, and lost all respectability. Well, respectability could go hang, and as he would be far from the only spectacle in attendance, he meant to enjoy himself. “Perhaps one of the lady captains shall oblige me.”

Tharkay swirled his drink, peering into its depths. “I daresay you could dance with the duchess.”

Laurence opened his mouth and shut it again. The image of Jane Roland in her dress uniform dancing the ladies’ part in a cotillion would not stick; his mind slid away from it like water from wax.

“You’re trying to picture it, aren’t you?” Tharkay said.

“I just can’t,” Laurence confessed, and it was worth it to have Tharkay laugh at him.

* * *

October passed in a blur. There were so many things to prepare for - not only the ball, but the London season that would immediately follow it, for which Laurence had to arrange lodgings for himself and Temeraire. He mentioned it in passing in a letter to George, and received a very acerbic response reminding him that their father had kept perfectly comfortable apartments in Mayfair that had not disappeared with his death, nor suddenly become uninhabitable, and indeed were large enough that Laurence might have an entire wing to himself while George and his family kept to another if Laurence so desired.

Whatever sarcasm was in George’s tone, Laurence felt the sentiment of the invitation keenly. It was one thing to host one’s disgraced brother for the Summer, with the knowledge that he meant to depart as soon as he might. It was another to wish to have him under the same roof while Parliament was in session, under the scrutiny of all London. It was also undeniably practical: the apartments in question were close to Hyde Park, where he and Temeraire would be able to meet without disrupting traffic. He accepted at once.

Temeraire, meanwhile, received a long and detailed letter from Perscitia, so diverse in its topics and tangents that Laurence could barely keep up with Temeraire’s remarks upon it, some of which were blistering. It also contained, quite offhandedly, an invitation to stay at her pavilion for the Season, “ _ Until such time as you establish a proper London address of your own _ ,” Temeraire quoted. “Well, I suppose it is closer than Dover.” 

“Considerably closer,” Laurence said. “About seventy miles.”

“Though I suppose it will be quite small, as she is. Surely she will not have invited me if I couldn’t fit under the roof.” Temeraire flattened his ruff. “There really ought to be some sort of public pavilion in London - it is terribly inconvenient at present. I suppose I shall just have to commission a London residence as well.”

“I shall make inquiries,” Laurence said.

“Very well, I shall respond to Perscitia and tell her that I accept,” Temeraire said. His claw hovered over his writing box. “And I shall tell her why she is wrong about the estate tax. This may take some time.”

* * *

The evening of the ball was foggy and chill, but the lights of Wentworth Castle gleamed. Lamps had been positioned all over the grounds, providing safe landing-grounds for all guests from the air. They arrived at one side of the house; the horses, safely blinkered and with nosebags attached, arrived at the other, and were swiftly trotted on to a carriage house at the very bottom of the road. Wentworth Castle proved large enough to make this feasible - it was a grand and stately place indeed. 

They were not the first dragons to arrive, though they had made good time. Circling over, Temeraire saw the tower keep that Minnow had described, and easily spotted Iskierka and Nitidus among those dragons strolling about it. Closer to the house, Temeraire recognised Lily from above, amidst a small cluster from the Dover covert, and landed in an open spot beside her. 

It was good to see her again, and she greeted him with typical sweetness. It was also lovely to see Emily Roland, who had been seconded to Lily’s crew when Temeraire retired - a wrench, to have to give her away, but he had always known she was ultimately promised to Excidium, and he had only been looking after her awhile; in Lily’s crew, she would get more experience with the particular tactics of a Longwing. She and Harcourt were on the ground, with the captain of a Xenica named Aeliana, and they called up greetings too. 

All of them, he noted with pleasure, were in their dress uniforms, their medals and epaulettes glittering - just like Laurence, whom Temeraire had persuaded to wear the same. He, of course, had had his pearl and talon sheaths polished specially for the occasion. He felt the touch of Laurence’s hand on his neck, and dipped one shoulder so that he and Tharkay could more easily descend.

“Commodore! Temeraire!” Emily called, and saluted. She looked well, Temeraire decided; her hair had been bound up rather elaborately with a silver clasp, and she laughed when he nosed her.

Laurence shook her hand, and Harcourt’s, and that of Aeliana’s captain too, a slender woman named Taylor who wore a Peninsular gold medal - she and Aeliana led a formation of the fastest flyers, and had distinguished themselves as skirmishers.

“Oh, but I’ve been nervous!” she confessed, wringing her gloved hands. “I’ve rarely been to one of these balls, and never without a frock on, but the Admiral - Her Grace, excuse me - she said uniforms, and by God I’ll not break rank. I think it’ll be a treat to go as we are, and not pretend otherwise, but I glimpse those ladies in silks walking to the front door and I want to run for cover. The French never made me so afeared as a well-bred matron with a raised eyebrow.”

“It’s much the same principal, I find,” said Tharkay. “Keep your cool and show no fear.”

“We shall move in packs, at first, and intimidate ‘em with our numbers!” Harcourt declared.

“I am sure Her Grace will have chosen her guests carefully,” Laurence said diplomatically. “It is more likely you will be pestered for details of your service than frowned upon for doing your duty.”

“And if we are frowned at,” Emily chimed in, “We only have to look to my mother, for she outranks everyone here.”

“Quite right,” said Excidium, who emerged now from the night to greet them. Temeraire marvelled at the diadem he was wearing: it was golden, and swept back over the crown of his head like a second set of horns; it looked spectacular against his colouring, and Temeraire told him so, with fierce agreement from Lily and Aeliana. “Well, I could not persuade Jane to get herself a coronet; she said I’d suit one better, and had this made for me as a gift.” He chuckled. “Silly thing, but I do like it. Now, then, to business: there’ll be a bell when dinner is served, and by that point the carriages ought finally to have stopped coming, so we may move on the other side of the house if we so wish. For now, though, you may explore the grounds on this side at your leisure. The keep is to the northeast, my pavilion to the south. Enjoy yourselves! I shall speak to you again soon.” He dipped his head to them all, and went off in search of other revellers to greet.

“Perhaps it is time to greet our hostess,” Laurence suggested, and the other captains agreed. Temeraire looked to the house, and in the well-lit windows he could see all sorts of colourfully-dressed people moving about, many in scarlet and gold uniforms of the regiment, which contrasted festively with aviator green; he wondered if Wellington was here already. He was sure the most auspicious personages would be heralded by the loudest fuss, and resolved to keep an ear to it.

“Do give her my best,” he told Laurence, and watched with pleasure as he walked into that grand house, flanked by people Temeraire could trust.

Aeliana piped up, “Your captain does look very fine with so much gold braid upon him. It is a pity Mr. Tharkay cannot have a dress uniform too, to match him.”

Temeraire sighed. “I agree. I do wish he wore medals too, but it was hard enough to convince him of gold buttons for his coat.”

“What is his house like?” Lily asked, nudging him. “I have meant to visit, but Catherine and I have been so busy, so I have only heard of it from Iskierka, and she never notices the things I’m interested in.”

Temeraire was happy to tell them, and enthusiastically extolled the virtues of the place; this quickly diverged into an account of his own pretty hill, and the pavilion being built there.

“So you will both live there permanently with him?” Aeliana said. “Ah! Like my Taylor and Mr. Croshaw. How lovely!”

“Mr. Croshaw?” Temeraire asked, puzzled.

“I beg your pardon,” Aeliana said, “Mr. Croshaw is a member of my ground crew. He lost his leg in a battle last year, poor fellow, so he had to retire. He moved to his brother’s farm, for you see, he and my Taylor had an egg some years ago - a boy, more’s the pity, who was raised on that farm. But, well, with all the fighting coming to an end, Taylor had been getting all odd and quiet, and when I asked her about it she said that it was only that she missed Mr. Croshaw very much, and should have liked to try for another egg with him - as many as it took to achieve a girl.”

“I see,” Temeraire said, sympathetic but still somewhat puzzled as to the connection.

“Well,” Aeliana continued, “I said that was very silly of her to keep it to herself, for there was no reason we couldn’t visit him, and if they had more eggs he was well-placed to raise them while she and I were elsewhere. So she wrote him a letter - we were still in Portugal at the time - and when we returned to England, we visited him. And do you know, he’d built the loveliest little pavilion for me, with a brass roof that catches the light ever so nicely, so I may be comfortable whenever we are there. And then he proposed marriage to her, and she accepted. And so now we live on that farm with Mr. Croshaw and his brother’s family whenever we are not meant to be elsewhere. I don’t suppose I should have liked it if she had married some fellow I don’t know, but Mr. Croshaw is a good sort, and my crew, and I am glad I have not lost him. I find it very agreeable to know that Taylor and I have a place outside the Corps.”

“Oh!” Temeraire said. “Yes, I know the feeling. I don’t believe Laurence can have eggs with Tharkay, and there isn’t a marriage involved, but to have a place where one knows that one is welcome, and appreciated, and that one’s captain is cared for when out of one’s sight - that is very comforting.”

Lily said, in an odd voice, “And your captain… she likes being married, does she?”

“Why, she seems to like it a great deal,” said Aeliana. “I personally don’t see what difference it makes to mating, but she does so enjoy his company, and she’s grown quite fond of the egg, too - his name’s Thomas, and he can speak now, though not very sensibly. Mr. Croshaw gave her a little ring to commemorate it, so perhaps that’s the appeal?”

They all considered this incentive for a moment. Faintly, Temeraire heard the ringing voice of the announcer speaking Laurence’s name,  _ Sir William _ still a rare and gratifying sound.

“My captain was married once,” said Lily, slowly. “To a sea captain. The fellow insisted on it, because they were having an egg - kicked up such a fuss about it, you remember, Temeraire.” 

“I do,” said Temeraire, thinking uneasily of Riley.

“From what I understood, Catherine wasn’t to have eggs with anyone else,” Lily continued, “so it really seemed like a losing proposition for her, though she humoured him. Certainly his family didn’t build me a pavilion, though they did take the egg. Anyway, the fellow drowned in the end. The whole thing certainly didn’t make Catherine any happier.”

“Perhaps it’s because he wasn’t of the Corps?” Aeliana volunteered.

“Perhaps,” said Lily. “I’ve been hearing a great deal more about marriages among the Corps, lately,” which was news to Temeraire. “It really seems the style, now that everyone’s returning home, even among the captains, though I’d always heard they didn’t as a rule.”

“Really?” said Temeraire. “Which captains?”

“McInerny, of Meteo, and Bader, of Fulmina,” said Lily at once. Temeraire knew them only by reputation. “And James.”

“James?” said Temeraire, astonished. “Volly’s James?”

“The very same,” said Lily. “He apparently made arrangements with a cook in the Edinburgh covert. And now Captain Taylor, too. I do not know that it is so astonishing, now I think of it - Incan dragons take on whole villages, and Chinese dragons expect their captains to be married. Why is it different here, do you think?”

Temeraire thought carefully about the last novel Laurence had read to him, a popular novel, recently published, which had concerned marriage a great deal. Laurence had thought it very funny, but Temeraire had kept having to stop him to ask for explanations, and each one had outraged him a little more. “I think it may have to do with Entailment, and the like. A lot of English women don’t own anything, and can’t vote in an election, and all their inheritance goes to husbands and sons, or even distant cousins as long as they are male. I have thought sometimes that marriage is very like the breeding-grounds - eggs in exchange for shelter and sometimes treasure, but little choice and nowhere else to go. I am not surprised that aviators avoid it if they can, for it seems to me that any sensible person would.”

“But I can vote in an election,” Aeliana said. “Are you saying I can vote, but my Taylor cannot?”

Uneasily, Temeraire said, “I believe so.”

“Temeraire,” Lily said, “You are going to Parliament, aren’t you? You must do something about this.”

“Yes, it’s essential!” Aeliana said.

Temeraire could not help but agree.

* * *

Jane greeted them all with brisk cheer when they were announced. “Thank God you’ve come in,” she said in an undertone, “I think if the weather were a trifle less cold, half the Corps would stay outside with the dragons until the dinner bell. Mingle, would you? Emily, show them around.”

Roland sketched her mother a crisp salute, and led them into the fray. “Oh, look, there’s Captain Granby!” she said.

Even in a crowd of dress uniforms, he was easy to spot with the sheer amount of gold that Iskierka insisted he wear. “Ah, it’s good to see you,” he said, shaking their hands fervently. 

“Have you been here by yourself?” Tharkay asked.

“Oh, well, I came in with Chenery and Berkley, but they broke off to explore the place while I was in the midst of the most awkward conversation.” He tugged at the collar of his uniform, the gold braid standing almost to his chin. “How I wish these Earls and Countesses and so on could wear some sort of sign about their necks, so I might know to address them properly! They ought to come with bars, as we do. At least when I’m talking to a fellow aviator, I can tell a Captain from an Admiral. You think it’d be the same with these soldier types, but some of ‘em are lords, and huff abominably if I introduce myself to them first, and others stand back waiting for me to introduce myself first, and if I didn’t happen to be paying attention when they were announced at the door I can’t for the life of me tell which is which. It’s not like a foreign court, where I can just feign that I don’t know the language.”

Harcourt and Taylor nodded, sympathy evident on their faces. Roland was looking about with a thoughtful frown; she, at least, would have had some instruction from Mrs. Pemberton on the matter, but not every captain of the Corps could have had such help. Laurence met Tharkay’s eye, and an instant of understanding passed between them: this was something the both of them had learned at their fathers’ knees, so early that they had almost forgotten it was a thing that must be taught. As Laurence scanned the room, he could see how the aviators and soldiers kept to their own clusters - they were not mingling yet, and the officer’s wives and daughters were looking around them in a mixture of fascination and suspicion. At this rate, nobody would yet be on speaking terms when they all sat down to dinner. They would have to change that.

“There are signs if one knows what to look for,” Laurence said, “And I too wish to know who is here. Perhaps a turn about the room will prove instructive.”

Harcourt nudged Captain Taylor, and then offered her arm. “Move in packs - what did I tell you?” And so they set off. 

Laurence did recognise a few officers - this colonel who he had met in Prussia; that viscount whose wife was a friend to his mother - and could thereby introduce his party to theirs. Tharkay, too, could identify some very surprising people, though in some cases via scurrilous gossip, which had the effect of easing the other aviators’ nerves. 

At one point, Catherine stiffened and Laurence turned in time to see her being raked up and down by the glower of a disgusted-looking Regiment officer on the other side of the room, dressed in almost as much gold braid as Granby; he murmured something to the fellow beside him with a sneer. Laurence met the man’s gaze and held it, and then Tharkay leaned over to Harcourt, and said lightly, “I believe that’s the eldest son of Lord Matthews. Did you hear about him?” And then in an undertone he proceeded to relay a piece of intelligence so scandalous that Harcourt at once burst out laughing, and Laurence was torn between struggling to control his own expression, and restraining himself from clapping his hands over Roland’s young ears. The eldest son of Lord Matthews, seeing this, went an ugly shade of red and gave their whole party his back.

Laurence shot a speaking look at Tharkay, who looked unrepentant.

“What an unpleasant fellow,” Roland said scornfully. “I wonder how he was invited?”

“Likely sent ahead to scout the room,” Tharkay said. “He’s of the Royal Scots regiment. He’ll be part of someone’s retinue.”

And indeed, not a minute later, there was a great commotion at the door as Prince Edward, the Duke of Kent was announced, and everyone’s conversation broke off so they could bow. He was a broad, balding man, wearing scarlet regimental dress. As Laurence rose, he caught the intrigued look on the prince’s face as he surveyed their party, in the moment before he was received by Jane Roland. Laurence caught a similar expression on the faces of some young women nearby, rising from their curtseys with fascinated looks towards Captains Harcourt and Taylor, and Roland - for of course, in the manner of the Corps, they had bowed.

As conversation rose once again, Granby sighed. “I suppose his being here means it’s gone through, then,” he said glumly.

“Oh?” Laurence said.

“What has?” Harcourt said. “Have you heard something?”

“It has,” Roland confirmed. “The Admiral has been so annoyed, but even she can’t do anything about it.”

“You’re both being admirably mysterious,” Tharkay remarked. “Will you leave us in suspense?”

Granby blew out a breath. “Well, I only know because I happened to be there, but: back in August, the Prince Regent visited Dover Covert with the Duke of Kent and Her Grace - she barely had an hour’s warning, so we cleared almost everyone out rather than risk exposing Their Highnesses to our manners. He was shown the eggs last - the Regent, I mean - and when he learned that we had a Regal Copper due to hatch within the year…”

“No,” Taylor breathed.

“Oh yes,” Granby said. “Asked for it for himself, as ‘a most appropriate royal companion’. I understand the Duke of Kent has been working out the details with Admiral Roland, and I didn’t think he’d turn up if he thought she was standing in his way. Poor Lieutenant Nicholson has been waiting  _ years _ for that egg to hatch; he’ll be heartbroken. Though, admittedly, with the number of captured eggs we have on hand, he’s likely to get another shot - just not with a Regal Copper.”

“Still, it’s the principal, isn’t it?” Harcourt said. “It’s just not done. And you  _ know _ that dragon will never see battle.”

The terrible thing was, Laurence didn’t necessarily see that as a bad thing - and it was obvious why this had happened. Two successive monarchs of France had dragon companions, and their Regent was nothing if not a dedicated follower of fashion. “We can but hope they’re of a matching temperament,” he said.

“If so, the exchange will likely earn the Corps a great deal of favour,” Tharkay observed.

“It sounds baldly transactional, when you put it that way,” Laurence said, and Tharkay spread his hands.

“I should hope we get something out of it,” Harcourt grumbled. “We’ll be down a heavyweight for nothing, otherwise.”

Their party did not stay together for long after that. Captain Taylor’s attention was monopolised by three young ladies, whose mother hovered nearby with a cautious air. Harcourt met the captain of another Longwing, who was obviously eager to hear news of her; Chenery and Berkely emerged from the ballroom with Warren in tow, and joined them with glad cries. Demane appeared out of the crowd, and he and Roland spent the next hour standing a foot apart, blushing at one another, while Mrs. Pemberton stood a discreet distance away. Captain Little appeared and asked if they had seen the view of the grounds from the gallery, and at that moment Laurence’s brother was announced, with Elizabeth and their mother in tow, and of course he had to meet them, which gave Granby and Little the excuse to peel off together. 

Even George’s slightly strangled, “Good  _ Lord _ ,” at the sight of so many women in uniform did nothing to lessen Laurence’s pleasure at their attendance.

The Duke of Wellington was one of the last guests to arrive, and once he had made his leg to the Duke of Kent and to Jane, he moved through the crowd like a frigate through choppy waters. He seemed to stay with no group for more than a few minutes, but sailed through as if determined to speak with every person in attendance before the hour was up. Eventually, inevitably, he bore down upon them, and Laurence was obliged to introduce Wellington to his family.

The clock struck the hour, and music began to filter through the house; the crowds began to filter through to the ballroom. It was then that Wellington chose to corner him, and Laurence watched in mild dismay as his relations disappeared through the door. “Your Grace,” he said evenly. They stood shoulder to shoulder, a boulder that the stream flowed around.

“Sir William,” said Wellington. He scanned the retreating crowd with a hawklike stare. “Seems to be going well, don’t it? Nobody’s fainted yet, or started brawling.”

Laurence was still unused to hearing his own title; it tended to put him off-balance. “Were you expecting otherwise, Your Grace?”

“I’d be a fool not to imagine all possibilities, when the field’s as untested as this one. So far, the Duchess’ experiment seems to be working, though what it will prove, I don’t know.” Wellington glanced sharply at him then. “Am I to understand you’ll be accompanying Temeraire to London?”

“Of course,” Laurence said.

“Hmph,” Wellington said. “Perscitia has been talking a great deal about it.”

Laurence suppressed a smile. “I did not realise you kept such close contact with her, Your Grace.”

“Hah!” Wellington said. “Who else is to talk sense to her? Politically, she is outrageous. Someone must stop her from upending every good tradition. And now there shall be  _ two _ such dragons to contend with. I thank God I have time yet before I must see Temeraire in the House as well.”

Laurence said nothing, since he could not agree and did not particularly care to ameliorate Wellington’s feelings on the matter. 

Eventually, Wellington looked at him, made a noise of disgust, and said, “Come, then - we shall not stand out here all night.” And at last Laurence got to go and dance.

Captain St. Germain of Mortiferus obliged him first, and she kept up a lively stream of chatter as they danced. The next was Harcourt, who was nervous of dancing but who laughed heartily at her own mistakes, which charmed the nearby General Anson into asking her for the next. For the reel, he asked Emily Roland, who nodded sharply at his offer and performed the dance with the sort of precision that suggested she had been drilling for this, and recently.

“It’s not fencing, midwingman,” he teased.

“Footwork is important, sir,” she chirped, her chin held high. Nearby, as if to prove her point, Chenery took the turn with far too much enthusiasm and almost pinwheeled into a Viscount.

When he took a moment for refreshment, he found Tharkay, who watched him with no small amount of merriment in his eyes. Laurence passed him a glass of champagne and asked, “Are you sure you will not dance?”

“Quite sure - I shall stay distant and forbidding on the fringes of the room, as God intended. Though you do almost tempt me.”

“Almost? Well then,” he tipped his chin at the glass in Tharkay’s hand, “I shall return when you’ve finished that.”

“Bring me three more, and you might have luck,” Tharkay said.

Laurence could not convince him, alas, but most of the other Aerial Corps in attendance found partners enough - even Demane found the courage to ask Roland twice. For the last dance, fresh off another reel with Harcourt, Laurence approached Jane. She, who had been swilling brandy around a snifter as the Duke of Kent chatted to an Earl, looked askance. Before he could drop his hand in chagrin, however, she snorted and set her glass aside. “Very well. Let it not be said that my daughter is braver than I,” she said.

“I know that is a constant arms race,” he said, to hide his relief, and she guffawed, and led him by the hand to the starting position.

When the dancing had concluded, the bell rang for dinner, and Laurence found his way quite naturally once more to Tharkay’s side. The dancing had invigorated him, it could not be denied. It was not exactly that he felt a 20-year-old lieutenant again, but there was nonetheless a particular feeling of refreshment that had come over him, such as he hadn’t felt in many years. He had, for so long, felt that certain pleasures of society had been closed to him, but that was because he had lacked the imagination to foresee this brave new world. He was aware that he was smiling like a fool.

As the crowd bottlenecked at the door, Tharkay smiled at him sideways. “You see?” he said, “I told you you could dance with the Duchess.”

Before he could formulate a response to that, Laurence heard a gentleman’s voice up ahead over the sound of the chatter around them, slurring, “...didn’t  _ come _ here to see a traitor flaunting himself in front of his betters-”

To which another equally well-bred voice hissed, “No, Frederick, you came here to see girls in breeches, now  _ get along _ .”

Laurence stifled a sigh, and made to pass as if he had not heard it, so it was a surprise when he realised Tharkay was as stiff as a hunting dog beside him. By the time he turned his head, Tharkay was already relaxing as if with a conscious effort. Had he thought Laurence would throw himself at the man? He had not thought that the duel with Dobrozhnov had so thoroughly affected Tharkay’s view of his self-control, but he had also seemed concerned by Laurence’s response to the rogue in Nottingham. He tried to keep an absurd flash of hurt off his face. Tharkay’s eyes widened fractionally, but the crowd was moving forward and they must move with it. Tharkay’s shoulder nudged his - a tacit apology, which Laurence accepted, though he noticed that Tharkay kept himself between Laurence and the drunk man until they were in the dining hall.

Dinner was its own spectacle - the tables had been laid out in a long hall fronted by many tall windows, out of which the whole company could see the well-lit space outside where the dragons were to dine, and though the windows were kept shut to keep out the November chill, the dragons’ conversation was nonetheless perfectly audible. Many a time a Captain of the Corps waved to their companion over the heads of the other diners. 

They were perforce seated according to peerage, which meant that Jane was the lone aviator at the head table, but Laurence found himself situated quite convivially between a baroness and a general’s wife, and across the tables from Captain Blake, of Liberatus, one of Excidum’s formation. The women, both being married to veterans, asked intelligent questions of their parts in the war, and Blake proved an entertaining story-teller. The conversation, inevitably, turned to their host, and then to the subject of women in the Corps. “I admit that I found their fashion quite shocking at first,” the baroness confided, “but I suppose it is necessary, to remind the men that they are due equal respect?”

“Something of that,” Laurence hedged, “And, of course, one has to consider the practicalities of moving aloft.”

The general’s wife said, in a slightly doubtful tone, “Is it true that aviators may not marry?”

Laurence felt that these were somewhat dangerous waters, but Blake said carelessly, “Oh, they are certainly permitted, but it’s rarely practical. Most aviators don’t hold property, so inheritance wasn’t a question that needed answering, in the lawful sense. Just as long as there are children to inherit captaincy.”

“Ah,” said the baroness, politely, “Marriages  _ per verba de praesenti _ , then?”

Blake looked slightly confused, and so Laurence leaped into the breach to say, “Yes, I believe marriages in the Corps have been most commonly made of a verbal contract.” This was true if one employed a very loose definition of marriage. “However, it is not exclusively done that way - why, I witnessed Captain Harcourt being married at sea.” He tried not to think of Riley, or the despairing flight over the open ocean when the ship went down. “And Captain Taylor told me earlier this evening of her own wedding, not two months past.”

Blake gasped - evidently this was news to him. “Was it to Croshaw?” Laurence, bemused, confirmed that he believed that was the fellow’s name. “Oh, well done, that man - the best outcome. It was an awful pity when he was sent home with the wounded.”

It sounded like a subject dear to his heart, and when the baroness expressed curiosity, it was a relief to let Blake take over the conversation with the rousing tale of Captain Taylor’s romance with the chief of her dragon’s ground crew, a story apparently well-known to many Corps veterans of the Peninsula campaign. By the end of the story, dessert was being served, and the baroness, the general’s wife, and every other listener within earshot was so enthralled that they seemed to have quite forgotten about the legitimacy of aviator marriages. Laurence was glad that Blake had at no point mentioned the four-year-old son that Taylor and Croshaw already had.

Dinner broke up in a rather chaotic fashion; most partygoers were by this point stuffed, overheated, and well on the way to drunkenness if they weren’t there already. Laurence was among them, and like most of his fellow aviators did not retire inside to one of the parlours, but stepped outside into the bracing night air to see his dragon.

He found Temeraire in the midst of a lively debate with Perscitia on the topic of what the qualifications of a voting citizen ought to be, in a circle of other dragons who egged them on without much apparent loyalty to either side. He settled himself on Temeraire’s foreleg, in his shadow, to take the measure of the argument. He found himself drifting, though, too warm and content to do otherwise. Faint music floated down from the gallery on the second floor. The lights of the house were so bright he could barely see the stars above. Some revellers, cautiously at first but with increasing boldness, approached the circle of debate, and listened. Temeraire and Perscitia had hashed out the ground that they agreed upon, and were now differing on particulars. They seemed to agree that women should be able to vote just as men did, as if this were not a radical stance; their respective arguments were cogent, and largely economic. Laurence certainly found them persuasive. A nearby lord interjected his disagreement, and Temeraire’s response was elegant enough to make the man frown in thought instead of arguing further or stomping away. He was good at this - he would do very well. Laurence felt immensely proud of him. 

Laurence pressed a fond hand to Temeraire’s neck, and slipped away.

Upon the wide, torch-lit paths, revellers and dragons alike wandered and conversed. He heard snatches of their discussions as he passed by, much of it gossip. The Regent’s acquisition of a dragon’s egg was news that had circulated, and he heard it from a dowager that it had been a birthday present to himself on the 12th of August. The Bourbon princes were apparently in London, and petitioning for their restoration to the throne of France - unlikely, since Anaharque was a far more powerful ally, and one making a convenient hostage of Napoleon’s son. His ears burned as he overheard a discussion of his relationship with Jane which was, sadly, broadly accurate, though melodramatic in its telling.

He spotted Immortalis and Messoria lounging amidst a heap of other Yellow Reapers upon a well-lit hillside, bowls of wine in evidence. Immortalis seemed to be in quiet conversation with a young lady, Messoria in lively discourse with a Naval officer. Laurence passed Minnow as she ejected a small dragon from the grounds - “Why should I do that?” she was saying, “And in any case, I carried the invitations for this event and I know none of them were for  _ you _ .” His head cleared considerably by the walk and the cool air, he wandered back inside.

It was far less crowded with so many partygoers outside, but by no means empty: in one room were drinks and conversation; in another were card games and cigars. Two men with easels were set up in a well-lit parlour, sketching Wellington and Kent as they conversed amongst a small phalanx of the Duke of Kent’s guard of Royal Scots. Kent was describing dragons he had met during his time in North America; Laurence thought that might go some way to explaining his presence here tonight.

Up the stairs he went, to where the long gallery of windows showed the thronging grounds from above; it put him near eye-level with the heavyweight dragons, and their conversation was still quite audible. It was for this reason that, when he spotted Tharkay and Jane in the midst of an intense discussion, he could not hear a word they said.

Tharkay vanished before Laurence could make his presence known, but Jane remained, a bemused expression on her face that changed to something as near to sheepishness as he’d ever seen when she caught his eye. He came to stand beside her, looking upon the revellers in the direction Tharkay had gone, and asked, “Is Tenzing well?”

Jane chuffed a small laugh, and scratched the scar on her cheek. “Quite well, I’m sure,” she said. “It is only that we stumbled upon a topic of conversation that I dare say he’d rather have climbed out a window than continue. I think I startled him, poor fellow. Oh well.”

Laurence, who had a hard time thinking of topics that would startle Tharkay, felt the urge to beg her candour even though the conversation was none of his business. 

She saved him from making the attempt, though, by saying, “I want a cigar; will you join me?”

Out on the balcony, Jane breathed a plume of breath into the night. “Dear Lord,” she said, “Did you ever hear so much talk about marriage at a gathering of Aviators?”

He joined her on the bench, and stretched his legs out. “I take it the topic of conversation at your table was much the same as it was at mine?”

She snorted. “It is all stuff, of course,” Jane said. She set her port glass on the balustrade and produced a cigar from somewhere on her person, lighting it with the flame from a lantern, which Laurence held steady for her. She took a satisfied puff, and continued, “I would never have credited that there were worse gossips in the world than young couriers and old ground crew, but there you are: they’re all in there, dressed in silks, determined to make anyone the subject of a silly romance.”

“Mm,” Laurence said. She was not looking at him, but addressing the air; he did not get the impression she required his opinion at present.

“They would have that it’s all sighs and heartache if it doesn’t end up in a church, and one cannot disabuse them, for they do not  _ want _ to be.” She took a puff and blew the smoke in long streams out her nostrils; he thought fondly that she looked quite like Iskierka in a dudgeon.

“I hope it has not hurt your friendship with any of your peers, Jane,” he said, with quiet concern. He could not count this night a success if the people at her table thought less of her at the end of it.

She looked at him in surprise. “Why, no,” she said. “By now, those men would have us all a horde of Boadiceas, and they came here ready to believe it, or else they wouldn’t have turned up at all. They’ve always known we existed; it is only now that it is deemed polite to  _ acknowledge  _ us. Besides which, I have been approached by women with all sorts of interesting ideas tonight, were I to have any sort of political ambition; Lady Allendale’s recommendations for attendees were quite good. No, dear fellow, it is only that they cast you as such a  _ pining _ figure, as if you are hurled across my threshold each night, longing for the day when I’ll make an honest man of you. It is really quite unfair.”

She looked so frustrated that it made him laugh. He felt he ought to be mortified, and he supposed he would have been, years ago – for he  _ had _ proposed to Jane, once, and not known quite how he loved her until she turned him down. It seemed so long ago.

“There, see? Quite absurd, as I said.” She looked pleased.

The smoke from her cigar curled through the night air. Laurence watched it float away, took a deep breath, and said, “Jane, are there any circumstances under which you  _ would _ marry?”

To his relief, she looked thoughtful, rather than pressed. “Hmm,” she said. “I can’t think of any practical reasons. My fortune is my own, so I needn’t rely on being kept by anyone. I’ve set the terms of my inheritance to pass through the female line, such that Emily will have the coronet when I’m gone, so I needn’t do it for her sake. That would leave sentimental reasons, and…” Here she hesitated, quite uncharacteristically. “That would require me to feel such sentiments, and I never have. To be honest, I have always been suspicious of the notion; for a long time I thought it an insidious fiction.”

“I see,” he said softly. The twist of his heart was a small one, a mere echo of one long past.

“I am not blind, Will,” she added. “I always thought it a great boon that a woman of the Corps need not acquire a husband, and I hope she need never - but there have been a great many weddings of late, anyhow. These changes wrought in the last few years have made it less impractical than it was, you know. Perhaps even Emily might, when she is older, and I dare say she is very sensible, so there must be something to the prospect. And still, the idea rather baffles me.” She smiled crookedly, and touched his hand. “I have my friends, and love them dearly as such; and sometimes I go to bed with them, and it is all great fun. I have never yearned for anything more, and cannot feel envy for that species of misery which I have seen accompany it—oh, Lord,” she said, apparently at his expression.

Abruptly, he began to laugh.

“This is why I cannot abide any discussion that drives me to sincerity,” she said, tapping the ash from her cigar with unnecessary vigour. Her hand still covered his. “I have no knack for it at all.”

“Forgive me,” he said, struggling to control himself. “It is only—“ 

She had described, once, a meeting with Demane, in which the young man strode up and down her tent in raptures about Emily’s charms until Jane was obliged to chivvy him out. The image had come to him suddenly, of himself in Demane’s place, and Emily in Jane’s, forced longsuffering to hear his plea for her mother’s hand despite Jane wanting nothing of the sort. He described it to her, and watched her roar with laughter in a sort of bruised delight.

They sat for a few moments in that manner, hand-in-hand. The sounds of the party trickled out to them, and the conversations of the dragons in the garden floated up. Jane resumed puffing at her cigar, and Laurence resumed watching the smoke drift away.

“I could put you on the market this very night, you know,” she said slyly. “I could have a word in the right gossip’s ear, and you’ll be positively swarmed.”

“Oh, let us hope it never comes to so drastic a measure,” he answered. He sighed, and steeled himself, rueing, for once, that he had not a born aviator’s bluntness. “Jane, you know I do not share your nature. I do not think— I could not, as we once did, without—“ 

Her expression of puzzlement cleared, and she snorted. “Oh, Will,” she said, and patted his hand in a companionable manner. “What do you take me for? A pleasant thing once needn’t forever be repeated.” She rose then, stubbing out the remnants of her cigar as she did so. “Shall we go and join a game, do you think?” 

* * *

In the small hours of the morning, Laurence found himself seated on the lawn outside Excidium’s pavilion. Most of the dragons were slumbering, and many of the partygoers too; in the distance, he could hear the faint clattering from the front of that grand house as revellers departed in their carriages. He had already seen his family sent off. Overhead, the stars were bright. He was, he supposed, a bit drunk.

A rustle in the grass made him turn his head, and he saw Tharkay strolling towards him, faintly lit by the distant torches along the path. Laurence patted the ground beside him, and Tharkay sat, drawing his knees up and resting his arms upon them. They were close enough for Laurence to lean against him, and he found Tharkay leaning back, and there they sat for a while, in easy silence, pressed shoulder to hip. Their breaths plumed out into the frosty air, but it was not so very cold - just enough to keep Laurence awake. Even then, he felt like he might lie down beside Tharkay and fall easily asleep; just the warm line of his friend’s body beside him was, he knew, enough for any weather.

He could not suppress a yawn, and was a bit sorry that it broke the quiet. Tharkay was barely visible, his profile limned with torchlight, but Laurence caught his smile anyway, the sweet way it tilted up the corner of his mouth. “There are rooms made up for guests, you know,” Tharkay said lightly. “You need not freeze out here all night.”

“I did not intend to,” Laurence said pertly. “Besides, you are warm.” He had not meant to say that. He fumbled for his watch, and drew it out. “It is only… Well, it is too dark to read that,” he amended, as Tharkay chuckled beside him, and finished with some dignity, “But I’m sure it is not so late.”

“It is past three in the morning,” Tharkay told him. 

“Ah. Well, in that case,” Laurence allowed. He allowed Tharkay to pull him to his feet, warm hands clasped around his, and he was in a soft bed before he knew it. He felt a phantom touch at his cheek, heard a whispered, “Goodnight, Will,” and the click of a door before he fell fast asleep.

He woke sometime near dawn, muzzy and confused. He reached across the bed, but - no, it was cold. Tharkay was not there - that had been only a dream, a very pleasant dream, evaporating now in the weak early light that crept out from behind the curtains. He wished to remember all its details: the warmth of Tharkay against him, the strength of his embrace, the softness of his skin against the palms of Laurence’s hands, and he drifted off to sleep again with those happy thoughts.

Abruptly, Laurence woke, a small sunbeam stabbing him in the eyes as he lay there, quite abominably hungover, and shocked at himself. The memory of the dream had not faded, as most dreams had the decency to do, but instead remained burned into his brain. His first, dumbstruck instinct was that it was not a decent way to think about a friend who had innocently welcomed Laurence into his home - but that did nothing to lessen the warmth that flooded him, or the very damning effect the dream continued to have on him. It was, in fact, one of several urgent desires he had right now, many of them in direct competition, like, for example, how to get out of the line of this blinding sunbeam without having to do anything so nauseating as move.

It was another hour before he managed to get up and make himself presentable, and he descended the stairs with care. Soon he found the other overnighters. Some were gathered in a sunlit room, chatting, but he did not take note of who was in there because he retreated immediately at the room’s brightness. 

The next parlour had the curtains drawn and a fire banked, and was full of people slumped in chairs, being very quiet together. Augustine Little raised his head and squinted at Laurence. When Laurence slipped inside and shut the door behind him, Little nodded to the sideboard, where some thoughtful person had laid out jugs of water and packets of headache powder. Laurence availed himself, and leaned against the wall until the tonic had had its salutary effect. Only then did he brave the dining hall.

It was sparsely populated, and mainly by aviators; few others had stayed the whole night. Jane, seated at the head of the table, surrounded by fellow captains, raised her teacup to him. Laurence found an empty seat near Granby, who silently and sympathetically poured him a cup of tea. Laurence thought of Little, and wondered if they had shared a room last night. He gratefully took the tea, and put all his concentration into eating some dry toast.

Fed and watered, he felt more himself when Tharkay sat down beside him, smelling of cold air and dead leaves. He peered closely at Laurence, smiled, and prepared himself coffee silently, not offering anything but his warm presence at Laurence’s side. 

Laurence drank his tea and despaired. If he had hoped the sight of Tharkay in the day would show the dream to be absurd, it did quite the opposite, for there was Tharkay, as he ever was, and Laurence loved him. He was an extraordinary man who Laurence admired very much, and trusted wholly, and wished to talk to every day, or else share long comfortable silences with - and that was not new, at all. All that was new was that Laurence wanted to kiss the upturned corner of his mouth. He wanted to lie beside him, not because the alternative was freezing but because it was a pleasure to do it. He wanted to take Tharkay in his arms and touch his bare skin, not because Tharkay was injured and needed help, but because Tharkay wanted Laurence to touch him.

Granby dropped the lid back onto the sugar bowl with a clatter that shot through the low murmur of conversation and made what seemed like half the room flinch. “Sorry!” he whispered, and set it right with exaggerated care. Laurence rubbed his eyebrow, and Granby sent him an apologetic look; Laurence accepted it silently, and passed over the milk jug.

He did not know what had spurred his thoughts this way, whether it was the conversation with Jane, or all the talk of weddings, or simply the accumulated months of contentment he had enjoyed. He wanted Tharkay to want him, and that was the crux of it. The thing itself wasn’t wrong - he had come to the conclusion some years ago that there was no more of conscience in it than there was to lie with an unwed woman, and he had certainly done that enough. It was only that Tharkay did not want him, and so Laurence felt like he was taking advantage of a good friend’s kindness to live in his house and desire him so.

He sighed. Enough of his morbing - thoughts were not deeds, and he was not some animal with no control over his actions. Besides which, in less than a week he and Temeraire would fly to London and spend most of the winter and spring there. Perhaps his ardour would fade with distance, and he could return to that good house as nothing more than the friend Tharkay deserved.

He glanced up at Tharkay and Granby, and murmured, “I apologise that I am not better company at present.”

“Hah!” Granby whispered. “You and everyone else this morning.”

Tharkay leaned over and said in a low voice, “You are doing no worse than Temeraire.”

“What?” Laurence said, surprised. Granby grinned - this was clearly not news to him.

Tharkay nodded, eyes glittering with mirth. “He’s not alone. Half the dragons are miserable with drink.” He pointed over his shoulder. “They’re all out there, scattered across the castle grounds like butterflies on a board.” Granby started snickering, and Laurence’s shoulders began to shake. “I can’t imagine how much wine they must have got through.”

Laurence dissolved into silent fits, which proved contagious, and though his head still pounded, he felt immeasurably better. He would go out and see Temeraire. Some time in the afternoon, they would all fly home. And he would treasure what time he had left with Tharkay before they were parted again.


	4. Chapter 4

The good thing about London in winter, Temeraire had decided, was that the cold deadened the smell of the Thames. In warmer months it was something fouler than almost any other river he had encountered, but in the winter it was rimmed with ice and did not send out its miasmas much further than the embankment. This was to his advantage, as Perscitia’s pavilion was in Battersea, and they had to fly over the Thames if they wished to get to Parliament.

Staying with Perscitia was a much more tolerable experience than he had anticipated. Her London pavilion was in fact quite large, with several chambers, and though brick was far from the handsomest material Temeraire had ever seen, she had commissioned some to be glazed in patterns of blue and green that looked quite well on the outside. It matched her unique colouring, with the effect of declaring to the world the identity of the pavilion’s inhabitant. It was also heated under the floor, which was very agreeable, and which Temeraire looked forward to having installed in his own pavilion. 

Their conversations were lively, if occasionally devolving into argument for argument’s sake; nonetheless, they could converse about many topics, and with many other people, for Perscitia held regular salons for the dragons of London and its surrounds. They were a motley bunch, but terribly interesting, for they had diverse needs and interests that were a challenge to provide for all at once. Perscitia, he confided to Laurence, had the advantage there: she now had several years’ more experience than he in convincing groups of squabbling dragons that their interests aligned, without the pressure of a coming battle doing half the work for her, and it benefited him to learn how she did it.

Today, though, was a bright clear day and he did not mean to spend it indoors - he had sent a message to Laurence that morning, and flew over the river to meet him by the Serpentine.

Hyde Park was still quite pretty even when the leaves were gone from the trees, and he spent a pleasant while watching birds hop incuriously by him. There were not many people about, despite the sunshine, and those that saw him rarely stopped to gawk. He liked to think that dragons were becoming a less remarkable sight to the average person - perhaps he would live to one day see a London that thronged with them, as they did in China.

Soon, he spotted Laurence walking through the trees, and they turned to stroll together along the banks of the long, thin lake. “How is your family today?” Temeraire asked. “Are Marcus and Henry still quarreling?”

“No, thank goodness,” Laurence said, “They had quite forgotten the matter of the worms by tea-time. Now there is a different uproar, because Thomas has ruined one of Margaret’s ribbons. I suspect she would not care quite so much if she were not coming out at the end of the month; I have seen her burst into tears twice in the last week.”

“Oh dear,” said Temeraire, who was still not entirely clear on what coming out involved, aside from girls old enough to be midwingmen getting frantic about balls. He did not know why it should prompt weeping. “I hope it will not be a painful experience.”

“All will be perfectly well, I am sure,” Laurence said. “The New Years’ ball will have many girls in attendance, so it is unlikely she will be under particular scrutiny, and Elizabeth will chaperone her and present her to Queen Charlotte. I doubt there’s much that can go wrong.”

“Will you attend it?” Temeraire asked, with interest. He doubted the ball would accommodate dragons - though he understood the Prince Regent was building an elaborate and expensive pavilion for his soon-to-hatch Regal Copper - but Laurence could usually tell him the most interesting details of anything he missed.

Laurence toed the ground. “I do actually have an invitation.” He sounded almost surprised. “George is exhorting me to go, so that I may help him keep unsuitable men away from her. I suppose I’ve no reason not to go.”

They walked together a few more steps, in deep thought. Temeraire said carefully, “Your brother has been quite kind to us.”

“Yes,” Laurence said, and raked his fingers through his hair. Then, “In fact, I feel I may have been unfair, expecting less kindness than he has shown me.”

Temeraire did not want to ask why that might be, or mention Laurence’s father, in case it upset him. Certainly George had the same abrupt sort of way about him as that man had.

Eventually, Laurence continued, “It’s an advantage of retiring from the service that I hadn’t anticipated. Getting to spend so much time with them, I mean. I hardly knew my niece or any of my nephews before now, because I was always away from home so much, whether in the Navy or the Corps, but now Margaret is a young woman when I could have sworn she was an infant only a few years ago. And George - most of what I remember of George is from when I was a child. Now he is carrying on Father’s work in Parliament, and may even see it through, God willing.”

Temeraire nosed at him gently. “So will you,” he said.

Laurence smiled, and pressed a hand to Temeraire’s muzzle. “Yes,” he said. “And I will be present to see all sorts of other changes too, instead of coming home from years abroad to be surprised by them. What a prospect.”

They walked a while longer, discussing politics. Temeraire was not entirely clear on the state of the monarchy, or how all the princes of England could have only one heir between them, when everyone said that they had ever so many children - “Yes, Temeraire, but Princess Charlotte is the only one whose mother is  _ married _ to the Prince Regent.” 

“And Princess Charlotte is not Queen Charlotte.” 

“No, my dear - the queen is her grandmother.”

They were still discussing the matter of heredity when Temeraire heard a commotion up ahead. Peering through the skeletal trees, he saw a group of some few dozen men, one standing on a box, all shouting loudly together. “What is that about, do you suppose?”

“I do not know,” Laurence said. “Perhaps we should go and hear them.”

They were not the only people ringing the meeting - a few other ramblers had stopped to listen, or perhaps to simply work out what had the group in such a dudgeon. The answer, it seemed, was the dissolution of the peerage into degeneracy and foreign influence, the shift in power away from the common man and his betters, and the weakening of the traditions that had made England strong. The man on a box was grey-haired and rangy, his clothing dour but expensive, and he held forth on his subject with depthless disdain. Temeraire watched with fascination. The group all had their backs to Temeraire, and if the man on the box noticed his approach, he did not show it.

“That the tyrant Napoleon has been replaced by the empress of the Inca is no improvement on the state of affairs,” the man continued in withering tones. “The brothers of Louis the Sixteenth still live, and even now are petitioning our Regent to aid in their restoration to the throne of France. Fellows, we  _ must _ urge Parliament to do what is right!” This was met with general cries of encouragement from the crowd. “If the Inca woman is left in charge, who will succeed her? Why, the half-breed heir of Napoleon!” General boos. “And while that child grows, who knows what the empress will do with her dragon horde?” Shouts. “She will use those beasts to strike at us while we are vulnerable!”

“Oh, I say, that is nonsense,” said Temeraire, exasperated.

The effect on the crowd of agitators was immediate: a shocked scattering, like frightened sheep. It was a marked contrast to the other onlookers, who had noticed Temeraire’s presence long before now, and had seemed to be watching for this very encounter.

The man on the box turned his ferocious gaze on Temeraire, craning his neck. “I will not be silenced!” he boomed.

“My dear sir, you are clearly not silent,” said Temeraire, waspishly. “You also seem to think Napoleon himself is no longer a threat, when the only thing keeping him on Elba is the fact that his son is where he is.” The agitators, somewhat recovered, registered their displeasure at this statement. “Why are you all booing at me? Do you want to be at war again?”

“Clearly, Hyde Park is no longer safe for public debate,” said the man, stepping down from his box, straightening his coat with aggressive tugs. “Gentlemen, to Parliament!”

“Well, really,” muttered Temeraire, and then in the sullen, retreating crowd there was a shout of something vile, and a stone lurched through the air towards - not him, Temeraire realised with horror, but Laurence, who did not even move. The growl that ripped out of him was pure instinct, and he could not help but feel vicious satisfaction as the agitators startled and ran.

But the other onlookers startled too, and began to hurry away, and Laurence said reprovingly, “Temeraire! It didn’t even hit me.”

“They ought not even try,” Temeraire said, feeling no shame, for he had not attacked those men, only warned them. Even so, it did sting a little when Laurence began to walk away from him - until Temeraire realised that he had gone to retrieve one of the pamphlets the crowd had dropped. There were many scattered over the stubbly lawn, along with a few abandoned hats and canes.

“What is it?” Temeraire said. 

Laurence frowned at the pamphlet in his hand, and picked up more, leafing through them. “Something I believe will interest Tharkay.” He put the papers in his pocket. “I shall have to write to him. Let us walk on, and I will tell you more about it.”

* * *

Laurence already had a letter to Tharkay waiting in his room in his brother’s house in Mayfair - but it was only half-finished. Since coming to London he had found the exercise bizarrely difficult, for he kept second-guessing every other word. He rewrote the first letter he sent to Garrelburn Hall several times, thinking always, was this account of his brother’s children too boring, that opinion on London dandies too callow? Suddenly, everything he wrote to Tharkay seemed witless, charmless, and either vapid or far too intimate. Finally, bent over the desk at 11 o’clock at night with a headache, he scolded himself that he was not courting the man, would never find the right words to convince someone who knew him so well that he was cleverer or livelier than he really was, and that at this rate he would send him nothing at all, and leave his friend wondering what on earth he had done to deserve silence. He finished his artless first draft, and sent it. This resolution had not, unfortunately, removed the feeling of great stupidity that came over him whenever he sat down to write to Tharkay, and thus, his latest letter was left unfinished. 

Now, with rather more on his mind than his own feelings, he appended to it an account of the meeting in the park, and tied the letter in a bundle with the pamphlets he had found - three in all, one a copy of the very pamphlet Tharkay had smuggled away on the night he was attacked. Another was on the matter of royal heredity, or specifically all the princes’ many bastard children and what a crisis this was for succession, which put the blame for their debauched behaviour at the feet of a generation of highborn ladies too loose in their morals and shrewish in their behaviour to be fit wives. The third was a full-throated attack on the Aerial Corps, its culture, dragons in general, and its leaders in particular, outlining not only his own shortcomings but the perceived deficiencies in Jane, Lenton, and every other Admiral of the Air.

He would have gladly burned every copy of all three of these tracts, but, like the pamphlet on Anaharque, the pamphlet about the Corps contained disquietingly accurate details. He did not know enough about the royal family to say the same for the third pamphlet, but it had the same character of awful specificity. Since Minnow was making her deliveries to Perscitia by the time Laurence had finished the letter, he gave it to her. Then he put the matter out of his mind as best he could.

The next day there was to be a gathering at Northumberland House, ostensibly to celebrate a very elderly cabinet member’s birthday, but really it was the sort of formally-informal dinner at which many real matters tended to be discussed before they became policy. The weather had continued to be uncharacteristically fine, so Laurence walked. It was on Hallam Street that he encountered the Duke of Wellington doing the same.

Wellington looked him up and down, and fell into step beside him. “I heard you were coming along to this,” he said. “How did you wrangle that, when Temeraire was not invited?”

“I am not here strictly on Temeraire’s behalf, but Perscitia’s,” Laurence replied. “Her secretary is ill and cannot attend, so I will be her proxy instead.”

“Hmph,” said Wellington. “Well, I wish Mrs. West well, but I daresay the conversation will flow more freely without her glaring down the table - it makes it very hard to enjoy oneself. And how is Perscitia, anyhow?” he said suddenly. “I have not seen her nearly so much since Temeraire came to stay with her. A lesser man might feel cast aside.”

Laurence suppressed a smile. “She has mentioned you,” he said mildly. “I believe just the other day she was describing a disagreement she had with you on the matter of corn tariffs.”

The effect of this statement was rather like uncorking a barrel under pressure. In their previous encounters, Laurence had found Wellington to be brief to the point of rudeness in all matters not pertaining to military strategy, but the subject of Perscitia inspired him to passionate length, and Laurence was largely reduced to a listening ear as Wellington alternated between praising her tenacity and brilliance, and condemning her as an ambitious fool with utterly untenable ideas. He was obviously intimately knowledgeable of her policies, for he described them in great detail, so he could damn them point by point. Once or twice on their progression, Laurence was moved to interrupt and voice his disagreement; naturally, he was censured in the strongest terms, but it was hard to feel much insult, though insult could describe roughly half of everything Wellington said. It was too fascinating, to observe a man in the throes of such vitriolic affection. He found himself hoping that, whatever their political differences, Wellington remained a friend to her.

They were at Charing Cross when the subject of Perscitia’s talks with Temeraire came up, as it inevitably must. Wellington was airing his grievances about her receiving a co-conspirator when, almost at the gate of Northumberland House, he wheeled on Laurence and caused him to stop short. “And what is this nonsense of theirs,” Wellington said, “about abolishing the breeding grounds?”

“You mischaracterise their argument, sir,” Laurence replied. “Obviously, dragons must live somewhere, and the breeding grounds are comfortable enough places for dragons that have no property of their own and are unattached to the Aerial Corps. And they will have eggs, in the natural course, and the Corps will always need new dragons – but things must change. There is no question of that.” Wellington’s expression was sceptical, his mouth half-open for reply, but Laurence did not let him. “Has not Perscitia herself proved to you what a waste of talent those places are? It is ludicrous that dragons be told they must submit to confinement or else starve, simply because they are uncaptained! Surely you cannot imagine that they will ever again stand for being treated as oversized cavalry horses, to be stabled and put to stud, enjoying no freedoms or hope for better prospects, merely because the Admiralty wishes it were so?”

Wellington snorted. “No I cannot, thanks to Temeraire, and you encouraging him, damn you. But the way Perscitia goes on, you’d think she has taken it into her head to tear them all down and fill the caves with rubble–”

As he talked, Laurence was conscious that they were being observed; by passers-by in general, and some who had to step around them to enter the great house, but in particular by a group of gentlemen clustered in the window of the coffeehouse across the street. They were arranged in attitudes of elegant idleness, and each one wearing a small fortune in fine tailoring – he recognised two by their uniforms as members of the Tenth Royal Hussars, bedecked with enough gold braid to give a dragon pause. The one staring most brazenly seemed to be the centre of the group, and though his clothing looked sober next to that of his friends, he was nonetheless wearing a cravat so elaborate that it threatened to swallow his face – not that that stopped him from raking his eyes over Laurence from head to toe. Laurence, who had thought nothing that morning of putting on his Chinese flying-coat against the chill, was suddenly aware of what a strange garment it must seem, with its elaborate embroidery and blue stitching. This surge of self-consciousness so annoyed him that he gave the coffeehouse dandies his back and said abruptly, “Your Grace, forgive me; shall we not continue inside?”

“What?” said Wellington, “—Oh, yes.” He cast a gimlet eye behind Laurence, then turned and strode on through the door, and Laurence followed gratefully. “Was that Brummel out there? God’s wounds, listen to me prattle. I spend half the week in argument with her, and the other half thinking of new arguments for the morrow.”

The dinner was a long and overheated affair. George almost arrived late, detained too long by his business in the afternoon, but even so he made a determined effort to take Laurence aside whilst drinks were being served, and point out to him all the most important Members of the House with whom Laurence was not already acquainted. It was by far the most enjoyable part of the evening, as George let fly with muttered opinions, and even smiled once or twice at Laurence’s responses. Otherwise, Laurence found it a challenge to parse much of the conversation around him, because so much of it was in reference to discussions long past. Nonetheless, Perscitia had told him what she had reckoned to be the most useful information, and he did his best to remember the most important talking points so that he could report back to her tomorrow. 

He did, however, glean one unexpected piece of intelligence: the identity of the man leading the crowd at Hyde Park yesterday. George identified him as one Jonathan Frith-Howell, and he was a Member of the House of Commons – and a Tory, which made him of the same party as Wellington. 

That seemed odd to Laurence, but when he explained his curiosity to George in the carriage on the way home, with a partial explanation of yesterday’s events in the park, George scoffed and explained that Frith-Howell was one of a number of Members of that Party who had incredibly low opinions of the social changes that had occurred in the last several years, but, because many of those changes had been prompted by the war effort, did not dare express those sentiments to Wellington directly out of fear of being publicly humiliated and driven out of the party altogether.

Then George said, “Someone threw a rock at you?”

“It missed.”

“For God’s  _ sake _ , Will!”

It was late when they got back to the house in Mayfair, and sleeting. Elizabeth greeted George with a kiss, taking his sodden scarf while the housekeeper helped him out of his coat, and then turned to Laurence and said, “Oh, Will, you have a visitor! He was going to just leave a calling card, but with the weather turning I insisted he take a room for the night.”

A creak from above made Laurence turn his head. “Tenzing,” he said.

Tharkay descended the stairs. A month had not been enough to soften Laurence’s affections, it seemed - though, to be sure, he was always delighted to see Tharkay, so he hoped the smile on his face didn’t look too uncommonly happy. He had only sent the letter this morning, which meant that Tharkay must have flown back with Minnow in order to get here so soon.

“Good evening,” Tharkay said, with a small, crooked smile. To George, he held out his hand and said, “I do apologise for the imposition, Lord Allendale.”

George shook his hand vigorously, saying, “Oh, no, not at all - Lizzie’s right, it’s awful out there.”

Between all the matters of politeness, it was almost half an hour before Laurence was alone with Tharkay. There was a drawing-room that adjoined both Laurence’s room and the room that Tharkay had been placed in - a kind arrangement on Elizabeth’s part - and they withdrew there. “I did not mean to summon you away from the Hall,” he confessed, “But it is good to see you, nonetheless.”

“I did not mean to descend on your family quite this way,” Tharkay replied, wryly, “But your sister-in-law was very kind, and in truth, there is much to discuss. Minnow, it transpires, has rather a story to tell us.”

* * *

Indeed, first thing the next day they took a carriage through the sleet to Perscitia’s pavilion, where Minnow had been an anxious guest overnight. “Oh, do stop pacing,” Perscitia told her, as her cook prepared tea for them all. 

Minnow, looking put out, sat, tongue flicking out disconsolately at her cup. Laurence took his usual place, in a corner with writing-desks, corner-tables, lamps and arm-chairs that Perscitia had set up for Mrs. West and her other human assistants, and Tharkay joined him.

“What do you have to tell us, Minnow?” Temeraire said. “You’ve been very mysterious about this.”

“Only because I didn’t want to have to repeat myself,” she said, pushing the tea away. “Well, it’s like this. When Mr. Tharkay opened that package from Captain Laurence, there, I recognised the things in it. The pamphlets, I mean. I recognised them because I’ve delivered bundles and bundles of those things, all over the place - here, Glasgow, Manchester, Edinburgh, Bristol, Liverpool - all over.”

“ _ You _ delivered them?” Laurence said, startled. “But - forgive me, the men possessing them didn’t seem the type to hire a dragon for anything.”

“Well, I don’t know about that, I’m sure,” Minnow sniffed. “I always delivered them to some person’s house or other on the edge of the city, and they paid well enough.” She lashed her tail, looking uncertain. “It wasn’t men I picked them up from, though. It was usually a dragon.”

Temeraire’s ruff pricked up. “A dragon gave you those? Even those ones about the Corps?”

Minnow shrugged. “Certainly. Neither of them looked like the captained type. Look, I don’t have to agree with the stuff,” she said, looking somewhat anxiously at the two bigger dragons. “I just deliver things, and quickly.”

“What were their names?” Laurence said.

Minnow hunched. “I don’t know,” she said.

“You don’t  _ know _ ?” Perscitia said. “What kind of delivery service are you running? What if you have to return a package to its sender?”

Minnow bristled. “I’m discreet! An address usually suffices! I don’t tell you how to politic, do I?”

“Alright,” Laurence said, raising his hands. “Can you tell us what those dragons looked like, though?”

“I didn’t recognise a breed in either of them; I reckoned they were a mix, like me.” She scratched at the brick floor. “There was one about my size, blueish-grey with tan patches, and another one almost Perscitia’s size, sort of sludgy green with black and white speckles, and a lot of spines. That one didn’t talk much. The blue one, though, he was pushy. He turned up to the Admiral’s ball, can you believe that? I saw him off, though,” she added proudly.

Something prickled at Laurence’s memory. “Was this about an hour after dinner?” At Tharkay’s sharp look, he explained, “I passed Minnow having some sort of disagreement with someone as I walked through the garden. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”

“That’s right, that was when it happened,” Minnow said. “I spotted him trying to sneak in through that copse of trees on the western side. And I knew he didn’t have an invitation, because  _ I  _ delivered all the invitations, because the Admiral said she ‘wasn’t going to divert Corps couriers for a silly party.’ Anyway, he jumped a yard when he saw me, so I assumed he was there to scrounge leftovers. It’s what I would have done,” she added shamelessly, “but those were  _ our _ special party leftovers. And he was holding a barrel.”

“What? A barrel?” Temeraire said.

“Yes,” Minnow said, “Just like a wine barrel. When I noticed it, he tried to give it to me - told me to put it with the others. He was really quite rude about it, especially considering that he didn’t have any money to pay me. Anyway, I told him where he could stick his barrel, and he flew away with it.”

There was a pause, punctuated by the sound of sleet thundering down on the roof. Laurence glanced at Tharkay, who raised an eyebrow and said, “Well, I haven’t any theories about that.”

“But you have others?” Laurence prompted.

Tharkay leaned forward. “It seems to me that someone is deliberately fomenting unrest throughout the country - quite disingenuously, since they are using unharnessed dragons to deliver materials that, amongst other things, rail against the very idea of unharnessed dragons. I have the names of a few minor figures in Glasgow, but now you have identified this Frith-Howell-”

“Him!” Perscitia said, mantling.

“Who?” Temeraire said.

“The man from the park,” Laurence told him. “He was at the dinner last night; George identified him as a member of Wellington’s party.”

“Jonathan Frith-Howell,” Perscitia said, with distaste, “Is one of a number of Members making a great deal of noise lately. They do nothing but complain about how much better things used to be, and they’ve been bothering everyone about those Bourbon princes ever since the Season began. They’re always extremely rude to  _ me _ . To hear Wellington speak of it, I think he’s under a great deal more pressure than he lets on. Frith-Howell’s lot don’t make up the majority of his party yet, but there are Members in other parties who share the same sentiment, and if they had sufficient strength of feeling to break away and form their own party, then it would severely weaken his position.” She paused. “Not that I would wish him to be undefeatable, but none of us would benefit from this.”

“So,” said Temeraire, “Someone is employing dragons who are not accountable to anyone, in order to deliver materials through middle-men to large population centres in order to encourage unrest, and… what, sway men to vote for the restoration of these princes to the throne in Anaharque’s place, as if that would change things at home? Are princes the sort of thing one votes for?”

Perscitia shook her head. “Perhaps, perhaps not, but all these Members need to do is get their constituents complaining loudly enough about the issue that it will sound very urgent and important to all the other Members. One Member of Parliament with an opinion hasn’t much weight; a Member with a mob behind him has considerably more.”

“I am sure no-one would have to look far for men truly angered by the way things are now,” Laurence said, thinking of the soldier in Nottingham. “All that would be left would be to unite them. But why for this cause in particular? Who benefits from removing Anaharque from power?”

“Napoleon, surely,” Perscitia said.

“But Anaharque holds his son,” Temeraire said, “Her accord with us depends upon it. If he moves against her, she can take the son away. And how would Napoleon be directing all of this from Elba? I understood that his contact with the outside world was  _ extremely _ limited.”

Tharkay said, “It is. Unless there are vast undiscovered gaps in security on that island - and believe me, people are looking for them very hard - he would have had to put agents in place before he was defeated.”

Laurence shook his head. “He would have had to be banking on his own downfall to do such a thing, and assumed Anaharque to be his enemy.” Temeraire stiffened suddenly. “I was there when he received that letter,” Laurence continued. “He did not anticipate her betrayal. I believe it truly shocked him.”

“Not him,” said Temeraire, very firmly. “Not him. Lien.”

Tharkay looked up at him, eyes sharp. “Do you think she would sacrifice his son like that?”

“Yes,” Temeraire said. “She has no reason to be attached to him, for he was barely more than an egg when they were defeated, and babies are, if you will excuse me, extremely hard to get excited about. They can’t even talk. And she has shown  _ no _ compunctions about using eggs as pawns before,” he added in a growl. 

“I thought--” Laurence rubbed his eyebrow, and sighed. “I was… surprised,” he confessed, “That she surrendered so easily. That she did not have some kind of plan in place, even when the Tswana intervened and the Inca abandoned her. She fought, but she did not spring some terrible trap at the last moment. For her to have put all this in motion, she would have had to anticipate Anaharque turning on them, and trusted her agents to work in her stead.”

“So she planned for the possibility of Napoleon’s defeat while he, unknowing, put all his energy towards their victory,” Tharkay said. “To me, it sounds like a sensible division of labour.”

It was at this point that a bell rang in the other room. “Oh!” said Perscitia. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Oh thank goodness,” said Minnow, who had been lying prostrate with her chin on the floor for the past several minutes. She pushed her full, cold cup of tea aside.

As the dragons preceded them, Laurence fell into step with Tharkay. “I believe you said your part in this matter was at an end?” he said lightly. He remembered blood in candlelight.

Tharkay raised an eyebrow. “The matter of a meeting in a barn in Kirkintilloch, certainly,” he said. “This is something larger - I think. We have speculated a great deal, and it does not do to get too ahead of the facts. Nonetheless, you have all given me a great deal of useful information that I must now present to certain parties, so that we can get to the bottom of this.”

* * *

Tharkay absented himself to a hotel as soon as was polite, thanking George and Elizabeth handsomely for their kindness. Nonetheless, Elizabeth did manage to extract a promise that he would join them for dinner once a week. Laurence recognised the slightly startled happiness on Tharkay’s face, and thought not for the first time that he was pleased to have Elizabeth for a sister-in-law.

December passed briskly. Whenever Laurence was not assisting Temeraire, he found himself occupied by his nephews, who were increasingly bold with their questions, and in many ways excitable. He found that small expeditions around London served to both educate them and keep them from mischief. Their company made him miss his ensigns rather fiercely, but as George was often called away to Parliament, and as Elizabeth had a baby to care for and a young woman to prepare for society, he thought it no trouble to occupy three bright children for a handful of hours every week. Twice, to his great pleasure, he was leading his nephews down a busy street when Tharkay appeared out of the crowd, and joined them for the afternoon.

Laurence could not ask him about his work, nor did he have any more intelligence to offer him that might prompt him to discuss it. He knew that Tharkay seemed very busy, that his schedule was irregular, and that he once arrived at the Mayfair house for their scheduled dinner five minutes late and doing a fair job of hiding how out of breath he was. But he never missed one.

Laurence loved him so dearly he was sometimes afraid he might do something rash, like embrace him, or reach for his hand, or tell him. It was perhaps a mercy then, that they only managed to see each other a few times a week.

Christmas came and went. The weather on the day was fine enough that they could spend much of it in Hyde Park, with Temeraire and Perscitia, and though there was only a very thin and disappointing layer of snow on the ground, the Serpentine had obliged everyone by freezing over so as to provide a natural spot for ice-skating. George, to Laurence’s surprise, proved to be quite good at skating, and led Margaret and the three boys back and forth across the narrow lake while Laurence stayed on the bank with Elizabeth and the baby, enjoying the warmth that Temeraire radiated as he and Perscitia discussed the perfect place in London for a public pavilion, and how one might go about setting it up.

The time between Christmas and the New Year vanished like smoke. By New Years day, Margaret seemed to have reached a state that Laurence recognised from the dawn of battle: she was brisk, focused, and admirably composed. Laurence stayed out of her way, and busied himself in the parlour with a book until he was required.

They arrived at Carlton House to find it already packed with revellers. Blazing candlelight spilled out of every window onto the grounds below, and lit every room of the mansion - and every person within - to greatest advantage. Margaret, in her green silk dress, clung to her mother’s arm, George ahead and Laurence behind, until they reached the relative safety of the ballroom.

It was not until he had a chance to look around that Laurence noticed the new fashions among the younger men. There were still recognisable elements of the recent style - the very high and elaborate neckcloths were in evidence, and the men who were not in dress uniform were wearing very sober colours - but on closer inspection, many of those dark coats were stitched with elaborate embroidery, like something from the last century. Some of the men’s coats also seemed to be of a peculiar cut, but he did not look much closer, for at that moment Margaret was joined by a friend, and they were now holding one another’s hands with attitudes of ferocious calm as Elizabeth chatted with the other girl’s mother. When the Queen was announced, and took her seat upon the dias at the head of the room, Laurence hoped his niece’s ordeal would soon be at an end. 

Princess Charlotte was announced shortly after, and prompted an explosion of whispering and fawning, for she was wearing a dress of iridescent blue-green silk embroidered with what looked like scales - “Beetle wings!” Margaret hissed, “Oh, look at them glitter!” - that seemed to require commentary from everyone in the room. The general consensus seemed to be great approval. All Laurence knew about her was that she was 17 and her parents despised one another. George shared a look with him, and they stood next to one another, enjoying their mutual state of having no opinion about a person’s clothing.

This did not survive the announcement of the Prince Regent. The room once again exploded into whispering, and some cries of great approval from many young men. “What--” Laurence said, loudly and quite involuntarily.

“Ah,” said George, sounding nervous. “Yes, well. I don’t suppose you had noticed the new fashions?” He sighed. “I suppose he had to have some new look, now that Brummel’s lost his favour.”

“Who?” said Laurence, not really caring about the answer, for the Prince Regent was wearing what appeared to be halfway between a Chinese robe and a mock aviator’s uniform. The coat was dark blue, and cut somewhat like an aviator’s flying-coat, but embroidered all over with dragons in gold thread. A matching cloak draped from one shoulder, its high collar lined with fur. A large gold pin, shaped like a Regal Copper, held his cravat in place. There were even leather straps around his hip and thighs, in imitation of carabiner-straps. They did not flatter him, but rather made his legs and gut look like sausages tied with string. Laurence was so fascinated by this ensemble, so fixated on its details, that he paid very little attention to the Regent’s speech, and almost missed it when he declared that the ball had begun.

There was a genteel flurry as the young ladies in attendance began to assemble, lining up with their chaperones to be introduced to the Queen. Laurence broke from his reverie and remembered his duty, and when Elizabeth led Margaret back from the dias, flushed and looking near faint with relief, Laurence congratulated her on her poise. Then he retreated so that she could mingle with her friends, and so that he could better keep an eye out for anyone who looked particularly unsuitable.

By now, he was well enough acquainted with London society to recognise a great many people in attendance; politicians, dignitaries, and princes among them. At one point, he glimpsed the Duke of Wellington, separated from him by half a room and several dozen people, who arched an eyebrow at him, glanced at the Prince Regent, and looked pointedly back. Laurence could not fail to take his meaning, and bristled.

The night wore on, and the Queen, a frail and elderly woman, soon retired. Margaret danced with three men, all of them known to her parents. Laurence earned his keep by seeing off a young earl’s son, whose neckcloth was tied so high that the first impression one got of him was his nostrils, and who Laurence knew to be involved with an actress from Kent. Then, near nine o’clock, there was a commotion at the dais, and the Prince Regent ascended to declare, “Dear friends! I must announce a momentous and auspicious occurrence: my egg is hatching!”

This provoked a flurry of chatter, much of it confused. On the dais, two servants emerged, carrying between them an enormous velvet cushion bearing a Regal Copper egg, which was itself swaddled in velvet. Princess Charlotte also emerged, looking flustered, and was ushered aside by one of her uncles, the Duke of York. “As you can see,” the Regent said excitedly, “It now bears a very conspicuous crack in the shell - there.” And he pointed. “What a propitious beginning to this new year of 1815!”

There was applause, nervous and scattered at first, but growing until the Regent glowed with pleasure.

The minutes passed; revellers milled about. Eventually, the Duke of Wellington made his way over to Laurence with a glass of champagne in his hand and said, “Good evening. How long is this going to take?”

“It depends upon the dragonet,” Laurence said. “It may happen very quickly, though I have known it to take all day.”

“Wonderful,” said Wellington. He drained his champagne glass in one swallow and set it on a tray held by a servant, and then crooked his finger at a soberly-dressed factotum, who heard what he had to say, nodded, and disappeared into the crowd. 

Laurence did not hear what it was, for the Regent was speaking with an air of great authority on the matter of dragons. His unctuous voice boomed around the room. “We have made sure, these last months, to speak in the presence of the egg, for you see, dragons learn their speech in the shell, and are born with their wits! This particular specimen is the largest and most ferocious of its kind, peerless in battle, but may be tamed by one with a will strong enough. For a dragon does not bow to force, but to wisdom: in marking his captain, he sees his better, and submits.”

This speech was followed by another polite smattering of applause. Then several more minutes passed, enough that the room fell to general conversation and milling about. The Regent, uncaring, sat down in his mother’s vacated seat and watched his egg with pleasure.

For lack of anything else to do whilst everyone was waiting, George introduced Laurence to a friend of his who had recently spent time in Brazil, and Laurence passed a genial hour hearing about the changes to that place wrought by Lethabo and the Tswana. It was after ten o’clock that the Regent leapt up, shouting, and the conversation in the room stumbled to a cacophonous halt. “It cracked again!” he cried. “Bring them in, bring them - the collar, and his first meat. A whole sirloin, the finest quality beef! Bring them!” Servants scattered to the doors of the room.

The great egg cracked again, quite audibly, rocking in its velvet nest – royal attendants hovered by it with anxious looks. The Regent stood, bent over the egg. Another crack, and chips of shell flew off and scattered on the floor, a glistening claw scrabbling at the membrane just inside. There were gasps and squeals from the crowd. The Regent trembled with excitement. Another attendant stood beside him with a great golden chain upon a cushion – a bribe and harness all in one, Laurence assumed. 

The little claw pushed, and fractures grew around the hole until it bulged, and then all at once the whole egg split and the hatchling burst out in a shower of albumen. The Regent was splattered and leapt back with a noise of disgust, and many people nearby cried out in surprise. This was followed by a smattering of applause, as the hatchling unfurled itself from the shards.

Laurence noted with relief that it was, at least, healthy – female, he judged, and well-proportioned, though with slightly protuberant airsacs that bulged at her sides. Her scales were a dark, rusty colour, but he assumed that, like Kulingile’s, they would acquire their metallic sheen as she grew. She turned in circles now that she was out of the shell, stretching her legs and flapping her wet little wings, incidentally spattering her attendants with more slime. Puffs of feathers burst up from the cushion as she trod about it with her claws. “Oh, oh, that is better,” she was saying, in a voice that piped like the high registers of a church organ. It would resonate like one, too, when she was older. “Now then, we were talking about something...”

The Regent, having recovered from his start (an attendant was now brushing the worst of the egg-slime off his clothes), rallied and said in a voice meant to be heard throughout the room, “About you, in fact! We welcome our newest courtier and boon companion—“

“Charlotte?” the hatchling said, quite ignoring him. “Where are you?”

It seemed the whole room gasped, except for Laurence, who sighed.

The Regent went white, as if he had just been cut; he shot a look at his daughter, but Princess Charlotte’s eyes were fixed on the dragonet, her hands over her mouth. The Duke of York looked worried; the Duke of Kent, thoughtful. The guests, Laurence noted, wore expressions that ranged from mortified to gleeful. The hatchling, for her part, was looking from face to face with incomprehension, and he felt quite sorry for the creature at having her hatching made into such a public spectacle.

The Regent’s mouth was a thin line, but he squared his shoulders and plucked the golden chain from its cushion. “I hope I may introduce myself,” he said, inclining his head to the hatchling. “I am Prince George, Regent of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, and of Hanover—“

“I know,” said the hatchling, with a distracted air. “I recognise your voice.”

The Regent smiled. “—And soon, I hope, your captain.”

The hatchling ceased looking about the room, and drew back to take a long look down her nose at the Regent. She was farsighted, Laurence remembered – all regal coppers were. Her eyes darted from his face to the chain and back again. “Oh,” she said. “No, thank you. Although that is  _ very _ pretty.”

The Regent went an ugly shade of red. A muttering started up around the fringes of the crowd.

“It’s just,” the hatchling continued, oblivious, “My Charlotte was talking to me a little while ago, about an opera she saw, and it was so fascinating, and I wanted to ask questions. But I tried asking questions while I was in the egg, and I couldn’t! So I had to come out. Charlotte? Oh, Charlotte, are you here?”

“Yes!” the princess blurted. She snatched up her silk skirts and darted past her father, wading into the mess of velvet and goose down. There were further scandalised gasps from the crowd, and a stern-faced woman who had been standing behind the princess twitched as if she had reached to restrain her too late. “Yes, darling, here I am. It is only so wonderful to meet you, I did not know at all what to say.”

The conversation of the crowd was now so noisy that the hatchling’s reply was lost in the din, but he hardly needed to hear it: the girl touched the hatchling’s snout quite fearlessly, and soon embraced her, heedless of the slime that was getting all over her gown, or the fact that the hatchling was barely smaller than a deerhound. Whatever they were saying to one another, they were talking with the attitude of old friends meeting after a long separation, and nobody in the world could mistake what had just happened.

Somebody moved in Laurence’s peripheral vision, and he tore his eyes from the scene before him to see Wellington standing beside him, favouring him with a look of the most penetrating scrutiny, as if he thought Laurence had somehow caused this situation by standing quietly at the back of the room. When Laurence stared back, he only narrowed his eyes further. It was to Laurence’s relief, then, that after a hurried consultation with his brothers the Prince Regent regained control of proceedings, albeit with the air of a man taking the wheel of a sinking ship.

“It seems she does indeed recognise her captain,” he said, through his teeth. “May we welcome our princess’s royal protector—“

“Pallas,” Princess Charlotte said proudly, seated in the egg wrappings. She slipped the golden chain over the hatchling’s head, and the crowd burst into applause.

“—Pallas,” the Regent finished, but by now it was obvious that the room was no longer his. The huzzahs reached a thunderous crescendo. The princess beckoned to attendants and they brought forth platters of veal for Pallas’ first meal; the Duke of Kent, Laurence noted, stood by his niece and watched the procedure with great interest.

“She should have named the beast Britannia,” Wellington said cynically, clapping along. “Then she’d be a symbol blunt enough for anyone.”

* * *

When Laurence picked up the newspaper the next day, he could only imagine Wellington satisfied: besides an article reporting on the event and offering sincere felicitations to the princess, there was also an illustration entitled YOUNG BRITANNIA. It depicted Princess Charlotte, crowned with a Greek helm and bearing the flag of the Union, upon the engraver’s idea of a Regal Copper taking flight – and beneath them was the Regent, trampled and indignant, left in their dust.


	5. Chapter 5

Talk of the Prince Regent’s public humiliation made its gleeful rounds about the ton, but it made Laurence wonder uneasily how Frith-Howell and his ilk might react, or their less public counterparts. He did not know whether Frith-Howell himself knew exactly who his actions aided, or if he was truly motivated by his sincere displeasure at a world that had changed beyond his recognition, asking him to accept dragons in Parliament, women in the military, and an Incan queen in France. The affairs of Europe seemed less and less to encompass the whole of the world. Some older self would have sympathised, Laurence was sure, for it was uncomfortable to learn that the world was not as one thought it was, and have to re-examine the way one thought, felt, and spoke. But the Laurence of now, who had done all those things, thought it the very least amount of effort a comfortable man might exercise and still call himself a man, and so, even if Frith-Howell was as gulled as his followers, Laurence could find little pity for him.

* * *

Two days after the ball, Laurence received a visitor: Jane Roland, stopping by on her way back to Dover Covert.

“She’s a healthy dragonet, and growing as she should, which is all that concerns me; but Lord if it isn’t colder inside that palace than it is out.” She stirred the sugar into her tea and leaned back in the armchair, one booted leg crossed over the other at the knee. “The Regent is packing for a trip to the country, I hear; his things were being bundled into a carriage this very afternoon. Kent is staying behind, though, so at least one of the girl’s family is interested in her.”

“How is Princess Charlotte?” Laurence asked carefully.

“I think she’ll do, to be honest,” Jane said. “I’ve certainly had to train worse young lords. This one has the proper affection for her charge, at least, and seems keen to learn how best to make Pallas fit and comfortable. She was mad for horse-riding until now, so she’s not too delicate a creature. She asked when it would be likely that Pallas and she could fly together. I proposed the idea of getting them to Dover for some proper Corps training - pitched it to Kent as no different from him going joining a regiment, or his brother the Navy.”

Laurence raised his eyebrows. “What did he say to that?”

Jane shrugged, and said cheerfully, “That he’d have to ask her mother. He did ask me to send a courier dragon around tomorrow, so I think he’s serious. I believe she’s in Italy right now.” She sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

Laurence’s understanding of Caroline of Brunswick was that she was in Italy because it was as far as she could comfortably get from her husband. He wondered, perhaps uncharitably, if she would consider her daughter in the Aerial Corps an acceptable exchange for the Regent being made to look enough of a fool that he fled the city.

“I hope she agrees to it,” he said.

“So do I,” said Jane. “Pallas needs to be properly socialised, and Princess Charlotte needs to be properly trained - I don’t want the only heir to the kingdom falling a hundred feet to her death because she can’t lock a carabiner. Don’t mistake me: if she joins us, it will be a huge disruption to the Covert, and everyone will have to learn what best behavior is, so they can be on it. Still, I like the idea better than dropping everything to be her personal tutor, which I suspect is rather more what Kent had in mind. I ain’t a governess.” She drained her cup. “Anyhow, none of this will matter until Pallas is quite a bit bigger - we have a month at least until we have to worry about Princess Charlotte getting it into her head to try going for a ride.”

* * *

After a week, Elizabeth got wind of a rumour that Dover Castle was being made ready for Princess Charlotte’s arrival. It sounded like Jane had succeeded. “I dare say that a year from now, there shall be quite a few more young ladies sent to the coverts than before,” Elizabeth ventured at dinner that night.

Laurence exchanged a glance with Tharkay, both of them being well acquainted with the kind of society such ladies might find at a covert. “I believe you may be right,” he said. If she was, he wasn’t sure what would be forced to change faster: the expectations placed on young ladies, or the culture of the Aerial Corps.

It had been a week of freezing drizzle, so as soon as the sky was clear, he and Temeraire went for a lengthy flight, gaining a great altitude and spiralling around the city in lazy loops. It was frigid, and the wind stung Laurence’s cheeks and filled his lungs; this far above the general smoke, he felt like he was taking his first deep breath in days.

It was over Regent’s Park that Temeraire said, “Hullo, who’s this?” and Laurence craned his neck over Temeraire’s shoulder to see a small shape flapping hard. “Hello there!” Temeraire called.

“Oh! Hello!” said Pallas, flapping almost high enough to reach them, and then she dropped like a stone.

Before Laurence could worry, she opened her wings, catching herself mid-plummet, and slowed by gliding in a hesitant circle.

“Was that who I think it is?” Temeraire said, hovering with easy sweeps of his wings.

“It certainly was,” replied Laurence.

A few more moments, and Pallas resumed flapping. Higher and higher she flew, panting audibly, until she was perhaps ten feet higher than Temeraire. Then she said, in a strained voice, “Do you mind? Terribly sorry,” and tumbled inelegantly onto Temeraire’s back.

Pallas was the size of a Shetland pony by now, and had not landed squarely, and so there was a frantic moment where her wings flapped, her claws scrabbled, and Temeraire’s whole back twitched as if he had resisted the urge to throw her off. But she gripped the bottom edge of the abbreviated harness, which stopped just above the wing joint, and folded herself flush between Temeraire’s wings, and was safe.

“Pray do excuse me,” she said. “You are too kind. My name is Pallas.”

Laurence, who had narrowly avoided being battered by her wings, said, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Pallas. My name is William Laurence, and this is Temeraire.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Temeraire grumbled.

“Thank you for letting me land on you, Temeraire,” the little dragon said. “Excidium gave me a regimen of exercises that I must do to strengthen my wings, but they are very tiring, and I have not flown so high before. Sir William, Uncle Edward says you are to come down and speak with him. He sent me up here to say that.”

“Uncle-? Oh, I see,” said Laurence, realising she must mean the Duke of Kent.

“Very well,” said Temeraire, and looped in a graceful spiral down to Regent’s Park below.

The Duke of Kent was indeed waiting below under and awning, with his guard of Royal Scots soldiers, Princess Charlotte, a lit brazier, and a small army of servants. Pallas launched herself from Temeraire’s back when they were still twenty feet up, and landed in her slightly ungainly way just in front of the princess, who clapped. Temeraire dropped neatly down beside the guardsmen, and Laurence dismounted as the Duke of Kent strolled towards them.

“Your Highness,” Laurence said, bowing, as Temeraire dipped his head.

“Sir William,” the prince said, and then acknowledged, “Temeraire. How good of you to come.” He stepped a little further towards them, and lowered his voice; behind him, Pallas was breathlessly describing her flight to Princess Charlotte, who seemed enthralled. “I wonder if you might assist me? You see, my niece is bound for the Aerial Corps in Spring, when it is expected that Pallas shall have grown to a great size. Duchess Roland was kind enough to advise us on the matter of her growth and development, and so we exercise her in this manner. However…” he hesitated. “I have noticed that she has a peculiar way of flying, rather upright, that does not seem very like the way other dragons fly. Temeraire, I have noticed, flies with a very pleasing manner.”

Of course, they would have been very easy to observe that day, a black shape against a blue sky. Temeraire preened, and said, “It is very kind of you to say so, Your Highness.” He dropped his voice to a whisper, which was of course at least as loud as a man’s speaking voice. “As for Pallas, I am sure she will improve.”

At the prince’s raised eyebrow, Laurence hastened, “I have witnessed the development of several hatchlings, Your Highness, and many were uniquely clumsy at this age. It often takes a dragonet some weeks to get used to their wings, and to acquire the ease they will have when grown.”

“I see,” said the prince, frowning.

Laurence said, sensing something more was required of him, added, “However, if you wish, perhaps Temeraire could accompany her on a flight, and advise her on her form?”

The prince smiled at this, and Temeraire very kindly did not grumble. 

So Laurence stayed on the ground with the Duke of Kent and Princess Charlotte, watching as Temeraire flew circles around Pallas, encouraging her form. After half an hour, Pallas landed, panting, on the ground of the park once more, but she had noticeably improved. “Oh! I am hungry,” she said, and curled up at the princess’ feet.

The prince smiled broadly, and turned to Laurence as Temeraire landed behind him. “Excellent. Have you any obligations two days from now? I should be very grateful if you would come again.”

There was no good reason to refuse, and so the Duke of Kent got the private tutor he wished for after all. Princess Charlotte would still join the Aerial Corps in spring, but until then, Laurence and Temeraire were obliged to meet her and her retinue in Regents Park every few days. Her form did improve, but most importantly to Laurence’s eye, she gained greater strength and confidence, until, after some weeks of following Excidium’s regimen, Pallas was able to go on short flights over the city.

There was a part of Laurence that could not entirely understand the Duke of Kent’s trust in him. Very vividly, he remembered meeting the King, during the invasion - wandering, out of his wits. Sometimes the cold despair of that moment, the utter remorse at the consequences of his actions, crept over him when he least expected it to, though he dwelt on such thoughts much less than he once had. Kent knew exactly who he was, and still, he trusted Laurence and Temeraire with his niece’s instruction. Laurence supposed he did not have to understand him; he only had to do the very best that he could.

Jane found the whole thing very funny, and offered him condolences for not slipping the net as she had. _Try not to let Temeraire teach Pallas anything too radical,_ she wrote. _If you make a Jacobin of Her Highness’ dragon I shall have the Devil of a time explaining it._

Tharkay, when Laurence let slip some of his doubts, was quiet a moment, and then told him, “You know what would have happened to our allies on the continent, had the plague been allowed to run its course there.” Of course Laurence did - it would not merely have destroyed French dragons. “Precisely; it would have been an act of war upon them too. Your exoneration is as close as the Admiralty and the lords of this land will come to admitting that they panicked and almost ruined our standing amongst all the powers of Europe.” For a moment, he covered Laurence’s hand with his own, and then withdrew it, as if it had been an unintentional gesture. Laurence froze. Tharkay did too, his hand clenched into a fist. Then he stepped away, smiled wryly at the floor, and said, “What I mean is: if it seems men such as Kent have short memories, it is only that they have quietly rewritten events, so that the plague ship was not a plan they endorsed, but an unfortunate error that you corrected. Thus, they admit that they have nothing to reproach you for, without ever having to admit wrongdoing themselves. I know you do not expect any Englishman’s good opinion anymore, Will,” he said. ”But I hope you will never again resign yourself to any man’s disdain.”

Before Laurence could think of a response, or think of anything but the phantom touch on his hand, the bell rang for dinner. The sound of pounding feet reached them from another room, followed by the sound of Margaret telling her brothers off. 

“I do not,” said Laurence, abruptly, before Tharkay could open the door. “I do not resign myself. It is only that, now, the only poor opinions that could cause me grief would be those held by people I esteem." And those, perhaps, he perceived where they did not exist. With Tharkay, as with George, he might have mistaken concern for judgement. "I worry, at times,” he admitted, “That my reputation might be an impediment to Temeraire’s advancement, or that I may be used as a weapon against my brother, or anyone else. But I would live according to my conscience, and let no stranger’s insult sway me.”

Their eyes met. Laurence did not know how he might describe the look on Tharkay’s face; but he liked it, as surely as he liked his touch. His smile was small, but fond. “Then I am reassured,” Tharkay said, and waited for Laurence to step closer before he opened the door.

* * *

It was after dinner, as Tharkay was leaving for his hotel, that the runner came with a message from Temeraire: he wanted to meet at Hyde Park tomorrow morning, at 7 o’clock.

Laurence thanked the boy and paid him. Tharkay raised his eyebrows. “You are keeping a punishing schedule,” he remarked. “It won’t even be dawn.”

Laurence sighed. “It’s an unusual time, I admit, but there may be something urgent he needs to discuss with me before we must go to Regent’s Park at 9.” He only hoped he would have time to find breakfast. He bade Tharkay goodnight, and went to bed early.

He slipped out of the house at a quarter to seven the next morning, fortified with the tea and hot porridge the housekeeper had been kind enough to set out for him; the servants were the only ones awake at present. The sky was black, the lamps were dim, and the air was frigid. He walked briskly.

Few were about at this hour, or in this cold. The park seemed utterly empty. He had warmed up somewhat, by the time he got to the bridge, but he thought that even in so prominent a place, he would have to mark Temeraire’s arrival by the sound of his wings - he wasn’t going to see him in this pitch darkness. For a while he paced up and down the bridge, until a drunk man bawled at him. It was getting late enough that the sky was turning grey; bit by bit, the world was becoming visible. And still Temeraire had not come.

At last, he heard wingbeats - but they were not Temeraire’s. They were of a small dragon, and he was astonished when he saw Pallas land at the other end of the bridge, looking about. Laurence set off briskly to meet her. She spotted him, and called, “Oh, Sir William, hello! Is Temeraire here, yet?”

“No,” he said, reaching her. They were of a height now - she was just bigger than a horse. The golden chain she had received at her hatching now barely fit around her neck. “Did he tell you to meet him here? He and I did not plan it.”

“He sent a message,” Pallas said. “Lieutenant Matthews received it, and told me about it when he brought me breakfast this morning. I was to come to Hyde Park at 7 o’clock, for a special lesson. I’m sorry I am late, but it was so early, and very difficult to leave the house without waking anybody.”

“Lieutenant Matthews,” Laurence murmured. He thought he recognised the name, but he could not remember how he knew it. An uneasy feeling was beginning to form in his breast.

“Is my lesson on how to carry a rider?” Pallas said. “I am sure I am big enough now, and Charlotte would be so thrilled!”

There were footsteps approaching. Laurence looked, but he could not see the source, and in the quiet of this early part of the day, the sound echoed enough that he was not sure of the approach. “Pallas,” he said grimly, “I think it might be best if you fly back to Princess Charlotte now, and we shall meet you at the usual hour.”

“Don’t do that, Pallas,” said a smooth voice from behind him. “I told you it was alright.”

Laurence turned around. There was a man there, not three yards off, wearing a heavy cloak and smiling calmly. “Lieutenant Matthews,” he said, recognising his face at once. Lord Matthews’ son, he remembered now, who had sneered at Harcourt at Jane Roland’s ball, about whom Tharkay knew the nastiest rumours. One of the Duke of Kent’s guards. Laurence could not see his hands. “Pallas, I really must insist you go home.”

“Why?” she said, sounding uneasy.

“Yes, why?” said Lieutenant Matthews, stepping closer. Laurence tried to keep himself between Pallas and the Lieutenant, but it was difficult: the bridge was too wide, she was too large, and all Lieutenant Matthews had to do was step to the side. He circled closer, and Laurence stepped back until he felt Pallas’ breath ruffle his hair. “It’s all right, Pallas. If _Temeraire_ has disappointed you,” and oh, his voice dripped with disdain on that name, “Then you and I shall have to go together.”

“Are you sure?” said Pallas, her head craning past Laurence’s shoulder. The Lieutenant, now only a yard away, lunged.

His cloak opened, and he swung upward, but Laurence had moved to seize his hands and force them aside before he saw what Matthews was holding. He felt a sting at his ear, Pallas yelped and scrambled backwards, and Laurence found himself tightly gripping Lieutenant Matthew’s wrist with his right hand, and the blade of a heavy cavalry sabre with his left. He was sure he would regret this very soon, but also that it would be suicide to let go.

“My neck!” Pallas squalled. “You stabbed me!”

“Fly, Pallas!” Laurence roared, and heard the rush of her wings. He hoped desperately she was not too hurt to make it back.

Matthews bared his teeth, and wrenched at the saber; Laurence grunted in pain, and his grip on the blade slackened as blood trickled down his wrist. Matthews snarled, twisting his wrist out of Laurence’s grip. The result was that they both lost hold of the saber and it clattered to the ground between them, but Matthews simply reached into his cloak and pulled out a pistol instead.

Laurence threw himself at Matthews, driving his shoulder at the man’s chest. The pistol went off with a deafening crack, but Laurence did not see what it hit. They went down together, and he landed on top of Matthews, but did not have the advantage for long - Matthews swung his elbow into Laurence’s face and threw him off. Laurence, reeling, reached for him, but his wounded hand was useless, and could not grip. Matthews scrambled for his saber; Laurence threw an arm around his neck and pulled him away. They overbalanced, went backwards, and Matthews twisted like an eel and shoved Laurence to the ground with his hands around his neck. 

Then there was a rush of wings and a shout, and Matthews was torn away from him. “I don’t know who you are,” Minnow said angrily, “But I don’t have time for you.” And she threw him over the side of the bridge, onto the frozen lake below.

“Will!” Tharkay cried, scrambling down from Minnow’s back. He knelt beside him, his hands everywhere at once, checking for wounds as Laurence heaved for breath.

“It’s not bad,” Laurence grunted. He coughed, and tried to prop himself up on one elbow. Tharkay gripped his other arm to help him, and as a bolt of pain went through Laurence’s hand, they both hissed.

“Your _hand_ ,” Tharkay said. He gripped Laurence’s shoulder instead, hauling him up to sit.

Laurence shook his head. “That’s the worst of it,” he said. “Pallas. Did you see Pallas? Matthews lured her here and wounded her. She got away, but I don’t know if--”

"Perscitia’s been poisoned!” Minnow blurted.

Laurence stared at her, as Tharkay helped him stand. “What?” he said.

“I went to her pavilion to deliver letters, and I saw that dragon - the one I’d seen at the party, the one who gave me all those pamphlets and things - he was sneaking away, so I confronted him, and then Temeraire came out to see what the commotion was, and so I explained, and Temeraire said that he thought I had already come and gone because the cook had said that a little dragon had just that morning delivered a gift of tea from you, so they were drinking it now - and that was when we all heard Perscitia coughing.” Her tail lashed.

Oh God, Laurence thought. Poison. Like Lung Tien Chuan. “I didn’t send him that tea,” he ground out. “Are they alright?”

“I don’t know! Temeraire sent me to find you, but I didn’t know where you were staying, but I could find Tharkay because hotels have their names on them, and I could land on the roof, and then he told me that you’d had a message to meet Temeraire here, and so we came. I think I saw Pallas. Was she that little crying dragon? She was flying east.”

“Temeraire,” Laurence said. He could barely think. He also couldn’t feel his fingers in his left hand, but everything above them screamed.

Tharkay led him to Minnow. “Take him to Perscitia’s pavilion,” he told her.

Laurence stopped, his good hand gripping Minnow’s courier harness. “Where are you going?”

"To deal with _him."_ Tharkay looked out over the edge of the bridge, to where Minnow had thrown Lieutenant Matthews. He looked back at Laurence. “Go to Temeraire. I will come to you when I can.”

Laurence could not find the will to argue - he needed to know Temeraire was alright. He climbed one-handed onto Minnow’s back, laying low and gripping the courier strap tightly in lieu of having any way to attach himself. He left Tharkay there on the bridge in the grey pre-dawn.

Minnow flew very fast, but with deliberate care, and they were over the river before he knew it. Dawn was just breaking now, limning the pretty glazed green tiles on Perscitia’s pavilion. Moncey fluttered up to them, calling a halloo, and they landed together. “Is that Air Commodore Laurence?” Moncey said. “I just got here and everything’s chaos. What on Earth is going on?” Laurence slid shakily off Minnow’s back.

“Infamy, that’s what!” Minnow said. “Assassination!”

“Moncey,” Laurence said, “Could I please commission you to take an urgent message to Dover? We need a doctor - we need two doctors,” he corrected himself. “One here, and one for Carlton House, for Pallas. Perscitia has been poisoned, and Pallas has been wounded.”

“Yes, alright,” Moncey said, looking alarmed. “Won’t be an hour!” and he flew off at great speed.

Laurence headed into the pavilion, which was in uproar. Inside, Temeraire pinned down a small bluish dragon with light brown patches, growling questions at him. Perscitia lay sprawled on the floor, wide-eyed and convulsing, claws scrabbling at the floor as her secretary Mrs. West barked orders to the two maids, and the cook sat in a chair with his head in his hands. There was a puddle of tea spilled across the brick floor, dripping through the small drainage grates. 

Temeraire looked up and spotted Laurence, looking first relieved, and then horrified. “Laurence! You’re hurt!”

“I’m fine, Temeraire, I promise,” he said, crossing the room with long strides.

The small dragon - a Pascal’s Blue cross, Laurence thought, like Perscitia, but half her size - twisted in Temeraire’s grip to see Laurence, and snarled something obscene. So, at least part of this assassin’s plan had failed. For Perscitia’s sake, he hoped that help arrived soon enough to ruin this part of it, too.

For Laurence, it was enough to reach Temeraire, and sink against his side, as Temeraire curled a wing about him. His bulk kept Laurence and the poisoner far apart.

Minnow hovered, looking frantic. “What can I do?” she said.

“Perscitia must have a doctor,” Temeraire said. He nosed Laurence. “So must you.”

“Moncey has gone to Dover to fetch one,” Laurence said. Perscitia moaned, her eyes squeezed shut. Her thrashing tail cracked violently against the floor, making her maids jump.

“Good,” Temeraire said grimly, “Then, Minnow, do you know where Apsley House is?”

“I believe so,” she said.

“Good. Take a message to the Duke of Wellington. Tell him what has happened.” 

“Yes,” Laurence said, “He shall want to know. After that, Minnow, pray return to Hyde Park and see if Tharkay needs assistance.”

“Right!” said Minnow, and flew out the door.

“Temeraire,” Laurence said, “The poison - did you drink any?”

“Only a taste,” Temeraire said. “It was too hot to drink, and then I heard the commotion outside. But Perscitia’s was served first, for the cook can only boil so much water at a time, and she drank half the cup. She has vomited much of it, but-- Laurence, what happened to you?”

Laurence explained events as best he understood them, starting with the message that had arrived last night. Temeraire, of course, had not sent it, just as Laurence had not sent the tea, and Laurence was still not sure what Lieutenant Matthews’ plan had been, or whether he had been directly conspiring with the dragon in Temeraire’s grip. Laurence had many questions, in fact, and the poisoner was as good a person to ask as any.

The small dragon grudgingly gave his name - Sica - and little more. He sneered when asked if he had a captain, scoffed when asked who he worked for. The closest they came to confirming anything was when Laurence asked him if the barrel of wine Sica brought to Jane Roland's ball had also been a poisoning attempt, and he looked humiliated. Temeraire looked like he wanted dearly to shake him to bits. Laurence, bereft of anything else to do, wrapped a handkerchief around his dripping left hand. He wondered what could be taking Minnow so long to return. He hoped Tharkay was safe - he had left him there with Matthews, not knowing if the man had weapons still concealed. 

He was broken from this reverie by the sound of pounding boots, and the Duke of Wellington burst into the room, saying, “What the devil is going on? I had a dragon show up at my house raving about assassins and then she flew off!” Then he laid eyes on Perscitia, and blanched. She was convulsing almost constantly now, twitches wracking her whole body. Mrs. West was standing just out of range of her thrashing, wringing her hands.

Wellington was at her side in a moment, fists clenching as Temeraire explained what had happened, including how Minnow had recognised the would-be-assassin, and the materials he had been distributing, and to whom they had ultimately been distributed.

When he had finished, Wellington was looking at Sica with his teeth bared in fury. He looked away in disgust, and when his eyes landed on Laurence, he startled. “And what in God’s name happened to you?” he said.

“While Perscitia was being poisoned, one of the Duke of Kent’s regiment lured Pallas and myself to Hyde Park and attempted to kill Pallas with his sabre,” Laurence said, flatly.

“What did you do, catch the damn thing in your hands?” Wellington said. Laurence, who thought the answer self-evident, stared back at him. Wellington snorted and turned to Mrs. West, gesturing at Perscitia. “Don’t you have some sort of cushion? She will break her head on this brick!”

The only cushions to be found were those on the chairs, quite small in comparison to Perscitia’s head. Nonetheless, at Wellington’s insistence the maids scrounged what they could, and the blanket Mrs. West kept for drafty days, and Wellington wedged it all under Perscitia’s jaw, evading her helpless jerks. It was to everyone’s great relief when Elsie arrived, carrying Captain Hollin and Mr. Keanes.

Keanes examined Perscitia, and asked several questions about what they had observed of her. Then he made up a large bowl of bromide and bade her drink it all, which required Wellington's help as Perscitia could not grip it. Then Keanes briskly questioned Temeraire and made him swallow half a sack of charcoal, “Just in case. It’s likely strychnine, given her convulsions. You seem unaffected so far, but we shall see.” His manner was as matter-of-fact as ever, but Laurence noted grimly that he did not promise Perscitia would live. Then he turned to Laurence. “Right,” he said. “You next.”

Laurence’s hand was still bleeding sluggishly; there was by now a small pool on the floor. He had taken to gripping it by the wrist, as if he could separate it from the rest of him and not feel it quite so much. Keanes inspected it, and grunted, “You might still keep the use of it.” Then he instructed the remorseful cook to boil some water, passed Laurence a bottle of whiskey, and took out his needle and silk. Laurence spent the next half hour breathing very carefully as Keanes worked.

Keanes was tying off the bandage when they heard the sound of a great many wings outside. Tharkay entered, and Laurence straightened - he made straight for Laurence, under the shelter of Temeraire’s wing, giving them both a swift, assessing look, and sparing a nod for Mr. Keanes. Temeraire's tongue flickered out to sniff him, but he seemed satisfied, and Tharkay did indeed look unhurt. 

Behind him came Minnow, who bounded over to inspect Perscitia. She was followed by Excidium, who sighed, “What a to-do. Perscitia, are you still with us?”

Perscitia raised her head a little, and grunted the affirmative. Her convulsions were less frequent now, and much less violent. She lowered her head again, and leaned it against Wellington’s legs. Wellington stroked her horns, and said, “Excidium, is Roland with you?”

Laurence swallowed. “Is Pallas alright?”

“Has that man Matthews been arrested?” Temeraire said.

“In order,” Excidium said, quellingly: “Jane is at Carlton House at the moment, and I daresay shall be for the rest of the day. Pallas is not badly hurt - the sword only grazed her neck, and my own surgeon is seeing to her care now. Lieutenant Matthews has indeed been arrested, and if Princess Charlotte gets her way he shall be hanged.” Excidium shook his head, and focused his sharp eyes on Sica. “Is that the one responsible for all this mess? Very well; give him to me. I have brought Aeliana’s formation to escort him to Dover.”

Temeraire, who had been half-sitting on Sica all this time, released him. The little dragon spat on the floor, but otherwise went quietly, and Excidium herded him out the door.

Laurence breathed a long sigh of relief. Tharkay gripped his shoulder, and Laurence found himself quite unresisting. He leaned into the touch, and was only grateful when Tharkay did not move away. “I hope,” he said, “That Lieutenant Matthews did not give you much trouble?”

“No indeed,” Tharkay said, “For he was still quite stunned from falling headfirst onto a frozen lake when I got to him, and soon after Minnow helped me march him back to Carlton House.”

“Did he say anything about his instructions?” Laurence said. Sica’s silence had been frustrating.

“Oh, yes,” Tharkay replied. “His instructions were apparently to murder Pallas, and either pin the murder on you or make it look somehow like you had killed one another.” 

“That was his plan?” Laurence said incredulously. “Just himself, against the both of us?”

“And he used his own sword to do it,” Tharkay said. “He struck me as more confident than bright. He thought his actions well justified. He also had a great many debts, which made him easily bought. He named the man who passed him his instructions, who, like Matthews, is one of Frith-Howell’s supporters - as are three other guardsmen, a fact which greatly alarmed the Duke of Kent. They were convinced that Pallas was a problem that needed to be dealt with, before she ruined Princess Charlotte. We can connect that group to several like it around the country, three of which were formed or led by men who are now known to be French spies. The other dragon Minnow described was found a week ago.”

Laurence stared at him. “You have been busy indeed,” he said.

“Not only I,” said Tharkay. “This took many hands. Admiral Roland has been coordinating a great deal of it. And it was your information about the Right Honourable Frith-Howell that unlocked all of this.”

“He will not be the Right Honourable when I’m through with him,” Wellington said coldly. His back was rigid. His hands were flat against the top of Perscitia’s head.

“Arthur,” murmured Perscitia. Her back spasmed, less violently than before.

“No,” said Wellington. “I thought to starve that man with my indifference, and now instead I find I have allowed rot to flourish in my house. He will pay dearly for this. I ought never have allowed a faction of hysterics a home in my party, and here we are.”

Perscitia sighed. “Arthur, I am very tired. Pray just sit with me for now.”

Wellington obeyed her, for a wonder. Keanes said, very quietly, “Your ear, next,” and Laurence was surprised to learn that the saber had cut quite a notch in it, which also required stitches. Tharkay stayed, his hand still on Laurence’s shoulder.

When Keanes was done, he went to look over Perscitia. “Asleep,” he said, “And the tremors seem to have stopped. Her heart is regular. I believe she will survive this, though I will stay some hours more.”

* * *

The rest of the day was long. The Duke of Kent sent his own agents to take Laurence’s account, and though they were kept from pressing him too severely by the looming presences of Temeraire and the Duke of Wellington, they nonetheless required a very detailed and exacting report. Laurence, aware that he was filthy with blood, was grateful not to be summoned back to Carlton House in such a frightful state.

Temeraire was reluctant to let him out of his sight, but was eventually persuaded. “At least take Tharkay with you,” he said. “I do not like the thought that there might still be more men like Matthews abroad. I know you may not carry your sword in the city, but do protect yourself.”

Perscitia was, by now, awake again and moving, though stiffly. Keanes gave her instructions, took the box of tea for evidence, and left with Elsie. Wellington departed too, informing Perscitia in a tone that brooked no argument that he would see her tomorrow.

Laurence washed the blood off his face and neck as best he could, and swapped his bloodstained overcoat for the spare flying-coat that he kept with Temeraire’s things at the pavilion. He could feel how stiff his neckcloth was underneath his cut ear, so he turned the collar up to hide it. Then he left with Tharkay, who found a carriage some streets away to take them to Mayfair. The weather was turning again, and cold rain was beginning to pelt down. By the time they reached the front door, the sun was beginning to set.

George met them in the front hall, stopped short, went white, and then turned to the equally pale housekeeper and said, “Mrs. Lowry, would you please have a bath drawn?” Then he looked over Laurence’s shoulder and said, “Mr. Tharkay, I know it is not the schedule, but I hope you will stay again for dinner tonight.”

“Thank you, Lord Allendale,” said Tharkay calmly. “I will.”

Laurence, unbuttoning his flying coat one-handed, murmured, “George, where are the children this afternoon?”

“The boys are in the nursery, and Margaret is in the drawing room with her mother-- my God,” George said, aghast.

Laurence sighed. He supposed his clothes were rather ruined. Tharkay helped him out of the coat, and passed it with a murmur of thanks to the housekeeper, who bore it away. Laurence hoped the laundress could salvage it - he was sure only the lining was stained.

“Right. Allow me,” said George, tight-lipped, and went upstairs. There was a distant burst of chatter, and then the sound of George being stern, and of a door closing.

Laurence went up to his room.

The fire was stoked, a copper bath set in front of it; even now, a maid was carrying in a bucket of hot water. She gasped when she caught sight of him. He glimpsed himself in a mirror and couldn’t blame her in the slightest, for in addition to the black stitches halfway through his ear and his stained clothes, he also had bruises purpling his neck and cheek, and he had failed to adequately wash the blood out of his hair. He looked truly alarming. He tugged at his neckcloth, and retreated behind the screen to undress.

The bath was hot, and stung pleasantly. He had to keep his bandaged hand resting on a side-table to keep it dry, but he managed. He could hear Tharkay and George’s low voices in the next room, and was thankful he would not have to narrate the whole event again. After a while, George entered and bustled about, laying out clothes for Laurence to wear to dinner. “You know, you really must get yourself a valet, now that you are at leisure,” George said.

Laurence, who enjoyed the little fusses of folding clothes and making things just so, and who did not enjoy having a razor held to his throat by any hand but his own, did not attempt to argue. “I shall look into it,” he said instead, and George grunted, satisfied, and left the room again. Laurence heaved himself out of the bath.

Now that he was much cleaner, and his body no longer felt like a clenched fist, he felt rather embarrassed. It was a bit absurd that he had managed to find a deadly encounter in a park in London in peacetime. He dried and dressed himself one-handed as best he could, only to be stymied by his neckcloth. He simply did not have the dexterity in his left hand at the moment to tie it, and he looked at his bruised face in the mirror with frustration. 

There was a knock. “Come in,” said Laurence, over his shoulder, and Tharkay entered.

He stood at the door for a moment as they gazed at each other; his eyes were keen and assessing. Looking satisfied with what he saw, he closed the door behind him. “Your brother has gone to relay the least exciting version of this story he can think of, so that you are not mobbed with questions at dinner,” he said. His mouth twitched. “Neckcloth giving you trouble?”

Laurence huffed and tugged the wrinkled cloth free. “Of all the charges I might like to lay at Lieutenant Matthews feet, I shall add the crime of making the next week of my life more difficult than it needs to be.”

Tharkay’s eyes crinkled at the corner. “Shall I?” he said, stepping close, and Laurence gratefully handed over the linen. Tharkay refolded it crisply, hummed, and said, “I have never done this from the other side. Now let me see…”

When Tharkay’s cool fingers touched his throat, he realised what a mistake he had just made. He suddenly had no idea what to do with his hands, so he kept very still instead. Tharkay was so close that they were almost chest to chest, and his fingers moved so lightly that Laurence hardly felt them on his bruised throat, though that did not stop his heart from thudding so loudly that he thought Tharkay would hear it.

He was sure he ought to look away, but the little line that appeared on Tharkay’s brow as he frowned with concentration transfixed him; he wanted to reach up and smooth it away, to touch Tharkay as tenderly as he was being touched. Tharkay’s fingers spread over his neck; his thumb slid gently under Laurence’s chin and tilted it up. Helplessly, Laurence swallowed and closed his eyes.

There was the smallest intake of breath, but Laurence could not miss it. Just as Tharkay could not possibly have missed the way Laurence’s pulse thundered beneath his fingertips; the way his face, with nowhere to hide, must surely tell everything. “Will?” Tharkay said, very softly. His thumb slid aside, a gentle drag of skin, and Laurence swallowed again, lowered his chin, and looked at him.

Tharkay’s eyes were bright, moving over Laurence’s face as if cataloguing every thought, every feeling written there. His lips were parted, as if in shock. Laurence’s eyes slid shut again, in despair. “Tenzing, I--” he began, but he couldn’t find any way to explain. 

Tharkay’s hands cupped his jaw. Laurence did not have it in him to pull away, so dear was his touch. There was a pause, the space of a full breath, before he spoke. “If I am in error, forgive me,” Tharkay said, in a low voice, “For seeing what I wished to see.” And then he pressed a kiss to the corner of Laurence’s mouth.

Laurence gasped. When Tharkay pulled away, Laurence chased his lips, and kissed him properly, for he was not in error and must not be allowed to think he was. Tharkay made a small noise and wound his arms around Laurence’s neck, and in response, Laurence placed his hand at the small of Tharkay’s back and pulled him close, as close as he could get him. His thoughts scattered like butterflies; there was only Tharkay, the warmth of his skin, the scent of him, the taste of him - the roaring joy of his kiss.

At last they parted, breathless, foreheads pressed together. Laurence was smiling like a fool; he could feel the ache in his bruised cheek. He couldn’t seem to stop. Tharkay stroked his hair, and chuckled, and pressed a gentle kiss to his jaw.

There was a knock on the door, and they jerked apart. “Are you decent yet?” came George’s muffled voice. 

Laurence and Tharkay stared at each other for a moment, eyes wide, still in one another’s arms - and the moment broke, and Tharkay snorted, and Laurence bit his lip against the laugh that bubbled up inside him. With great reluctance, he unwound his arm from Tharkay’s waist. Tharkay’s arms slid down Laurence’s shoulders, picked up the ends of the neckcloth, and went back to their innocent employment. There was once again a careful half-step of distance between them. Laurence cleared his throat and called, “Almost!”

George opened the door and found them like that. Tharkay tucked the last end away, squinting critically, and said, “There, I think that looks right.”

“Oh, of course, your hand,” said George, frowning. “I shall have to lend you my man Stephens in the mornings for a little while, Will - I shan’t make you manage on your own.”

“Thank you, George,” Laurence said, quite sincerely, and the three of them went down to dinner.

* * *

It could not be fairly said that the rest of the Season passed without incident. The Duke of Wellington went on the warpath within his own party, and because he was not subtle about it, the scandal of the French plot to destabilise British politics and dethrone Anaharque kept the newspapermen employed for months. Pallas grew to almost her full size, and Laurence and Temeraire supervised Princess Charlotte’s joyous first flights. Perscitia made a full recovery, and drafted several new policies, many of them with Wellington’s support. And finally, a by-election was called for the dragon seat in Kilsyth, and so it was time for them to go home so that Temeraire could campaign.

“We shall need to make an early start of it,” said Temeraire, “For it is a way from London to Garrelburn Hall, but I like my route: Allendale Hall first, and we shall have tea with your mother; then that little pavilion outside Leeds, which looks a very nice place to rest; and then home in time for supper. What do you think?”

“It sounds perfectly agreeable,” Laurence said. Everything felt very agreeable at the minute, for Hyde Park was awash in daffodils, and he had the best company he could ask for.

“Yes it does,” said Tharkay, at his side. “London has its charms, but I look forward to us all going home.”

He looked at Laurence as he said it. Laurence could not kiss him as he wished - the way he would later, in Tharkay's hotel room - but for now, it was no scandal to take his arm, and walk with him and Temeraire through a sunny afternoon.

END

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the longest thing I've ever written - it really got away from me. A million thanks to Lorata, who beta'd for me with diligence and gratifying enthusiasm, and a particularly helpful eye toward emotional continuity, even as I hammered out the last chapter. Any mistakes remaining are mine. 
> 
> I have to give a shout-out to WerewolvesAreReal, whose fic [A Reasonable Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7824172) has undeniably influenced my interpretation of George Laurence.
> 
> I now know more about King George III's extended family than I ever wanted to. And about the precise symptoms of strychnine poisoning. I took some license with the history of bromide salts as anticonvulsants, since they weren't used for that purpose until the 1850s, but since canon plays fast and loose with the invention of the carabiner I say all's fair in dragon AUs.
> 
> Finally, the title comes from a line in _Persuasion_ \- because it's the first place I go to for pining 19th century sea captains.


End file.
